Depravity
by CRMediaGal
Summary: They rarely saw one another at the same time. Shadows lidded expressions, darkness shrouded sentiments. Somewhere between the fine line of love and hate lay the truth: terrible, unfortunate, and inevitable. Dark AU, Pre-Hogwarts and Hogwarts Years.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes :** This is not a happy tale. Seven chapters await the reader who chooses to follow along. There are elements of SS/NM _and_ LM/NM, and the timeline moves around from chapter to chapter/scene to scene because that was the format I chose for telling this story.

(I've written SS/NM and SS/LM before, so if you're interested in those one-shots at all, they're entitled _One Day_ and _Everlasting Disclosures_ and are available to read under this account).

Lastly, _without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing_ , so please leave a review as you read. It will let me know if there's interest in this twisted tale (or not). Also, a big thank you to Vino Amore for looking over each chapter for me!

 **Warnings/Triggers :** Violence, Sexual Content, Self-Sabotage, and the usual Dark AU!disclaimers apply. Rated M for these reasons.

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters. Artwork is credited to Snapesmort on DeviantArt.

* * *

 _ **Depravity**_

 **By CRMediaGal**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

" _Why is it that we don't worry about a compass until we're lost in a wilderness of our own making?"_

—Craig Lounsbrough

* * *

 **March 1997**

Narcissa saw the spark of hunger flicker across that pair of soulless eyes that made her heart freeze—that unmitigated lust that can so easily befall even the shrewdest of men—well before the individual slithered in for his claim. "You owe me," he whispered, his words hot and threatening against her throat.

" _I hate you_ ," she snarled and turned her face away, unable to mask her disgust. He smelled of an ill mixture of sweat and fumes, of too many hours spent hovering over a handful of steaming, stiflingly hot cauldrons.

Long, spindly fingers latched around the smallness of her waist and held her still, whilst a bony thigh shoved itself snug in between her legs, already wet from the exchange of magic; of the remaining fragments of his soul binding itself to her. She hadn't expected to be so affected by the act to the extent that she had shuddered, even emitted a small moan of pleasure as the magic— _his_ magic—ensnared and encased her.

Bellatrix hadn't heard her the first time, and she wasn't here to witness the fifth; or was it the sixth or seventh? _Thank, Fuck All._

"That makes two of us," he chuckled into her ear, his laughter a ghostly chill gliding over her goose-pimpled flesh.

Emitting the smallest of pressure, he pinned Narcissa, hard, against a wall. There was nowhere to glance but into his cold eyes, though she would have much preferred a black hole—a nothingness; a void—to the same hollowed irises she was forced to stare into. They weren't eyes she wished to reacquaint herself with. Not here, not now.

Narcissa held her breath and her poise, her jaw set firmly and her mouth purposely closed to him. Her captor sought to upset that balance by gathering the bottom hem of her dress and pulling it up to her waistline, whispering a bit of wandless magic that left her legs exposed to the cruel draft sweeping through this lit-deprived room.

Shadows. Shadows everywhere. It was appropriate to conceal; to hide.

Narcissa gasped and raised her chin. She wished she hadn't and that his ears hadn't picked up on her brief bit of weakness. It only offered him further control in these situations and she despised relinquishing that to this man. His gross ability to fell her with a touch—a simple stroke of skin on skin—left her appalled as much with her feeble will as with his exhaustive talent for tearing down her walls.

Two calloused fingers drove their way inside her laced knickers and twisted at her damp folds, spreading her legs with a few delicate swerves of his thumb upon her clit. Narcissa hissed, enraged, and clasped onto his shoulders, digging her nails into his coat with all of her physical might. Her hands might be incapable of inflicting much pain on their own, but she could provide him with the jolting vibrations of her rage as her magic flowed through her fingertips.

He seemed rather empowered by her revulsion. Exercising more force, he curled his fingers about until he located _the spot_ —her ultimate weakness—and dipped them forward and back to meet each of the witch's reacting thrusts. She moaned and squirmed, unable to stop herself, utterly helpless to what had begun as a tingle and was now making her stomach quench.

She loathed this man for awakening her needs but responded anyway, desperate for more friction. She yearned to be touched—she hadn't been touched in an _age_ —and he bloody well knew it. He knew _everything_ ; or so it would seem. Another box ticked off of a growing list of bases for abhorring the man.

"Tell me you're not enjoying this," he growled and flicked his wet tongue over her earlobe.

That challenge sent a spark down Narcissa's spine. "I'm _not_ enjoying this," she countered, her tone clipped.

It was futile to withhold any feeling in her voice, however, though she made to hide the small gasps that escaped her by sucking and nibbling at his neck. Her heated lips pressed against his pressure point. His reactive moans gave way to full body trembles and deep sighs neither could successfully squander.

" _Liar_ ," he spat and suddenly pulled at her locks, forcing her glare.

Narcissa clutched at his back and wrapped her legs around his trim waist, heaving herself upward. Her breasts depressed as she forsook the fight from within that had been trying—and failing—to resist him.

"Prove that I'm enjoying this," she breathed, her fingers coiling around pieces of his lank, greasy hair, much of which clung to his face. " _Prove. It._ "

He raised her provocation with a low, promising growl. Uttering more wandless magic, his trousers dropped somewhere around his ankles, showcasing the wizard's grossly pallid, lightly furred legs in the rainy, grey light streaming across the windows. He rammed Narcissa against the wall. Her head pounded in protest, but their rhythmical beats were quickly drowned out by several defining gasps and exclamations as he slipped inside her with reckless abandon. There was nothing gentle about him, and yet, she craved that ferocity. There was nothing delicate or comforting in this act.

Narcissa's hands grasped uselessly at limp, black hair, at a sharp jawline, at a horribly gaunt and angular face that, at times, appeared more animal-like than human. She didn't care.

This man was grotesque and hideous to the eye but set her insides on fire and bathed her in warmth and a false sense of security. His fingers were like flesh-eating poison upon her skin, but she relished how they were making her body sing. His breaths were like lethal fumes against the flush of her cheeks, and yet, still she craved _more_ ; to breathe in every ounce of him. And she hated herself for it.

She found his lips and latched on, dousing them in a series of greedy kisses. " _Severus_ ," she chanted his name again and again. How she detested his physical being but loved how fragile his name resonated on her tongue. " _Severus_..."

He wouldn't say her name in return. He hadn't since their first time. That had been a 'mistake', one which Narcissa was determined to see him break. She yearned to hear him utter it back. She needed to lose herself in feigned emotional protection, of which he was seemingly too proud to provide her, even out of pity, though she desired none of that either. Only truth. And the truth lay somewhere in between, cloaked in darkness.

" _Severus_ ," Narcissa panted. She kissed the pointed tip of his nose, sucked on his bottom lip. He bore his teeth. "Say it."

"No—"

" _Say it_ ," she implored, grinding her hips faster.

"You're nothing to me," he insisted. He nipped at her breasts and threw her hands above her head, fastening them securely to the wall.

That wouldn't do. It wasn't enough. " _I hate you_!" she screamed as she finally came, losing, for several precious seconds, all sense of borrowed time and the decrepit space in which their bodies had sought solace in each other.

It was only as her orgasm subsided that Narcissa felt Severus shudder in her arms and rapidly pull out before they were finished. Slowly, she raised her head, which had collapsed against his shoulder in exhaustion, and unfurled her legs from around him. Every part of her ached. He helped to place her carefully back on solid ground but neither could look one another in the eye—at least, not at first. They rearranged their rumpled garments and flattened pieces of hair stuck to their perspiring foreheads. Narcissa smoothed out the wrinkles in her navy blue dress, catching Severus's fingers re-buttoning his trousers. Fingers that were infested with dry ink beneath perfectly smooth nails; masterful hands that had completely and utterly undone her.

"I know," he suddenly spoke, belated, ruffling the silence.

Narcissa met his gaze, as dangerously elusive as it ever was. Pieces of hair were strung across his dark eyes, his expression hard and indiscernible. Was he as appalled as her? Was their mutual hatred mounting? She often thought yes; other times...she wasn't so certain.

She swallowed down the bile creeping up the back of her throat. "I believe my debt has been paid."

Even in darkness the smirk that spread across his hawk-like features sickened her. "For now," he concurred softly. He ran a finger across her swollen upper lip. She shivered and he dropped his hand. "You know your way out."

With that, he turned on his heel and exited from what was his personal study, his dragon-hide boots creaking along the wooden floorboards and echoing his emotionless departure like a lingering bee sting. Narcissa watched him go, silent and composed, without offering him a parting word of her own.

As desperate as she had been to avoid these premises earlier, Narcissa felt a sudden paralysis overtake her body. His dismissal had been calculated and savage, but not at all surprising to her. She could be just as ruthless and removed with him at times, after all, and she was accustomed to how this power play of theirs came and ceased. This game was beyond perilous, and yet, she had been a willing participant in its folly to this point and could fault no one but herself for whatever the ugly outcome may be.

Yet, Narcissa didn't want to leave this place—or him—and the overriding guilt that plagued her every time she came to this dreadful conclusion seemed to stress the bolts on her coffin further and further shut. She swallowed, wanting to be sick. Her crotch was sore and her legs were wobbly but, somehow, she forced one foot in front of the other, crossed the study to the main corridor, and fled.

Darkness greeted her like an old friend, with a single lit candle hovering to guide her way out. Perhaps that was the saving grace in all of this mess; that spared others of their damning secrets and lies: everything was in shadow. Hidden. As it should be.

Narcissa stepped from the front door into the pouring rain, disregarded conjuring a drying charm that might ease her journey home, and Disapparated. From a second story window, Severus took a long drag from a lit fag, watching as Narcissa's silhouette disappeared into the night. An exhaust of tobacco smoke billowed from his nostrils and receded into the air, whisking away a few lingering thoughts with it.

' _I hate you.'_

' _I know.'_

* * *

 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes : **Wow! Thank you so much to the reviewers for your wonderfully encouraging responses to Chapter 1! I hope you'll find the rest of this story just as compelling.

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

" _Man is not what he thinks he is; he is what he hides."_

—Andre Malraux

* * *

 **Late Summer, Circa 1980**

Severus Snape's stride slowed amidst the array of bushy Mme Plantier white roses, now charmed to bloom in the ghastly summer heat, that were nestled within the Malfoys' lavish garden, wishing to school the repulsed expression that inwardly mirrored his thoughts. His biting cringe couldn't be averted, however. Thorfinn Rowle's hairy, bare arse peeking through the brush was a sore enough sight that _any_ wizard might flinch.

Repulsed, Severus redirected his path. He swerved sharply to the left and headed back in the direction from whence he had come, the wretched moans and squeals of Rowle and Alecto Carrow in the heavy midst of their beastly copulation trailing after him towards the manor. He was grateful when the noises faded; the repugnant image imprinted on his mind was exacerbating enough to shake off.

Severus detested parties, and Lucius's garden soirees in the spring and summer were no exception. Rather, _any_ social gathering involving this particular lot of benefactors to the Dark Lord were none too enjoying for the young, un-notable Death Eater. Few of his fellow like-minded comrades provided Severus the private entertainment he sought from their company anymore (and without their knowledge, naturally). He was cleverer than most, and that seemed to be keeping him alive and on good terms with the majority of them.

Lord Voldemort's inner circle, as Severus had gathered rather quickly on his way up the leader's ranks over the past two years, were sloppy drunks at best. Not only were they messy in their inabilities to hold their liqueur but they were stupidly loose with their tongues. Dangerously loose, to be frank.

His hosts, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, were, perhaps, an exception to such regular shambolic conduct, and were the singular reason that Severus tolerated showing his face at these invitations at all. Of course, if the Dark Lord was to be in attendance, Severus's presence, like his comrades, would have been mandatory. On a too muggy August evening such as this, however, and without his lordship expected to make an appearance, Severus would have gladly steered clear of Malfoy Manor had it not been at his host's overbearing behest that he show up.

They were toasting the Dark Lord's latest victory: several hundred new recruits. Some twenty-one new members had taken the Dark Mark in the past month alone. The Malfoys' party was an elaborate excuse for another drunken charade in a long list of celebrations that had been provided in Lord Voldemort's honour; but their leader was apparently too preoccupied to turn up tonight.

In this particular instance, Severus envied his master. Pretending to be cheerful, making merry with his clumsy followers, and watching them, as the night worn on, reduce themselves to a pitiful, slobbery swarm of sex-crazed lunatics wasn't Severus's idea of a good time. His Lordship might feel likewise; or, perhaps, it was on account of the compromising information Severus had provided him recently over a certain prophecy from that crazed Sybill Trelawney that suggested the Dark Lord may be defeated that had his lordship so preoccupied.

Severus understood, without needing to think too hard on the reasoning, why Lucius had insisted on his attendance: to supply more juicy details on what he had overheard about the prophecy. This normally would not have fazed Severus, for Lucius was a stickler for snooping and prodding wherever his own interests might benefit him most. The man's conceit and over-confidence got under Severus's skin once in a while but only if he was intoxicated to a point that the blond's arrogance sparked his temporary will to care. And Severus rarely allowed himself to become that inebriated. Alcohol, as had been proven with fellow Death Eaters, could make for a life-altering error in the tricky circles in which they navigated.

Thus far, Severus had graciously accepted each glass of Elderwine Lucius poured him, making certain to cleanse his glass of all contents once his host wasn't looking, and had fended off his former housemate's probing questions; but he supposed Lucius hadn't yet exhausted all methods of extracting information, leaving Severus to be on his guard and make himself scarce at every possible turn this evening.

As Severus reached the French-style doors that led to the back of the estate, their portals open to allow for the scantest respite from the uncomfortably thick summer heat, he thought better of walking in on what was in play: a serious game of Wizarding bets. The game was at its height and a brawl was apparently stirring between players Rolland Mulciber and Evan Rosier, each of whom was accusing the other of cheating them out of the tempting pile of coinage at the centre of their table. Alonso McNair's wife, Eleanor, a brute of a witch and a perpetual flirt, particularly towards whomever possessed the upper hand, was sandwiched in between them and egging the men on towards a duel. A collected Lucius was trying to diffuse the situation with more brandy, so Severus left the pathetic lot to their idiocies and strolled onward towards an elaborate maze at the far northwest side of the property.

The setting sun tinted the clouds in a dreamy multitude of pastel pinks and golds, shrouding the grounds in unusual warmth. One could almost feel at peace here. Severus understood its draw for the Malfoy family. He had been to this part of the manor many times before, though normally in the company of Lucius, but rarely ventured too far inside the extensive maze which had been expanded by Lucius's pureblood forebears over the centuries. If one had something to hide, the Malfoy Maze was an eerie, opportune spot in which to safeguard secrets.

Despite the uneasy feeling of the place, it called to Severus on this sweltering summer eve, its silence and detachment from the rest of the connecting landscape, which overflowed with flowers, pebbled walkways, marble statues and a magical fountain, welcoming to the solitude Severus craved. He ambled inside the entrance—the hedges charmed into a cathedral-type archway—and wove his way towards the closest stone bench, unsurprised to find it deserted. Severus thanked Merlin for small favours, seated himself comfortably, and, at last, permitted his mind to wander towards thoughts which he had been suppressing all evening.

A growing knot was welling in the pit of his stomach and had been for the past week. _Ever since that ruddy prophecy..._

He hadn't felt this out of sorts since the beginning of the year, and not being entirely in control of his emotions was _never_ without its share of personal horrors. His conscience evidently didn't appreciate the reminder of certain news which had reached his ears on that unforgettable, frigid January night at The Hog's Head: 'the Potters were expecting.'

Severus clenched his jaw to ward off the acute pains in his gut. He made useless annoyance of digging his fingernails into his thighs, clawing and scratching and seething. Physical pain that he could control felt much better.

Lily had given birth since then. The child would be a few weeks old now; a 'boy', if the news was correct. A distracting image of the Potters came to fruition in Severus's mind. He wanted to lean over the bench and retch all over the Malfoys' perfectly cut grass, but he willed himself to ignore the knob prodding at the back of his throat.

"Are you feeling unwell, Severus?"

Severus startled and snapped his head sideways. There, only a few feet to his left, stood a quietly observing, refined-looking Narcissa. But then...when was she _not_ sophisticated, if even at a distance? The champagne dress she wore fanned outward at her knees like a mermaid, accentuating her fine curves and slender physique. She may have birthed her first child—a son, Draco—at the beginning of the summer but one would not have known it except for the witch's rather well-endowed breasts. The delicate, laced trim woven across her chest made her features all the more feminine and fragile and accentuated her new motherly 'glow'. Severus had always thought that whole idea of motherhood bollocks, but with Narcissa, there was most certainly a certain...affect.

She was exceptionally beautiful—a stunning illumination amongst the earthly trappings of hers and Lucius's green labours—even whilst casting Severus an almost knowing look over that he found disquieting. She wasn't alone either. Her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, stepped forward from behind a tall hedge and Severus had to force down an inappropriate noise that would have surely passed for callous laughter.

The two sisters side by side were an oddball configuration, like that of a lioness standing next to a hyena, in Severus's view. Bellatrix held no competition against her sister's royal-like beauty—or sane mind, most would agree—but, to a lot of wizards (and some witches), she wasn't unattractive; but Bellatrix was superior in brains and in her brandishing of the Dark Arts, neither of which left Severus particularly comfortable in her presence. She was unstable, unpredictable, and nothing was too perverse or beneath the blood-thirsty witch's wandwaving, nor that of her deranged husband, Rodolphus, the only other wizard alive (aside from, perhaps, the Dark Lord himself) who successfully matched her gross classification for malice.

"I'm fine," Severus asserted, making a small correction of his slumped posture.

"No pussy worthy enough for you to take this evening?" Bellatrix taunted, with a sinister wag of her tongue. One of the loose sleeves of her crimson-coloured dress conveniently slid down her shoulder, nearly revealing a perky breast and a nipple beneath. "I can fix that for you."

Severus didn't miss Narcissa's fleeting flinch, as if she was privately mortified by Bellatrix's lack of decorum. Yet, it wasn't unlike the loose woman to offer herself freely to ruffians within their circle.

Severus washed the abhorrence from his face and softly answered, "Not tonight," knowing the smile he flashed Bellatrix would unhinge her. She wasn't accustomed to being turned down, particularly by any of their kind and certainly not by a man much younger than her.

Bellatrix scowled, wrenched her sleeve back into place on her puny, bony shoulder, and stalked forward. Her dark eyes were suddenly livened, enraged. "You're going to have to prove your loyalty soon enough, Severus, one way or another!" she declared, flaring her nostrils as she stared him down. "And you may not have your slim pickings when the time comes!"

"Tragic as that may be, I've had my share," he replied flatly.

" _That's a lie_!" she cried, a creepy, red-blood smile twisting her lips. "You will prove that you're worthy of us, Severus! The Dark Lord shall make certain of it, especially if _I_ make such a request!"

Severus threw her a measured but inscrutable glare. "Go ahead, if you must."

Giving a determined throw back of her feral mop of black curls, the shifty witch took off towards the maze's entrance, flicking at Severus's arm and relishing in his knee-jerk reaction of reeling backward to avoid physical contact. She cackled, loud and satisfied, and sauntered off to re-join the others.

"You'd do well to take my sister up on her offer," Narcissa surprised him moments later by expressing. He quirked an eyebrow at her. She had taken a few steps closer to him, with her hands knotted together in front of her. She now appeared composed and unaffected by her sister's behaviour. "Bella's not one to make empty threats."

"I know she's not," Severus concurred, though no less dissuaded. He wiped some non-existent debris off of his trousers and stood. "But I'm willing to take my chances."

Narcissa's bright blue eyes flickered beneath the gentle light of the fading sun as she stared at her younger company. "Do you have a type, I wonder?"

Severus's eyebrow rose higher on his brow. "Are you interested in my 'type', Mrs Malfoy?"

"Forgive me," she hastened in response, lowering her gaze a fraction. A small, hardly noticeable blush flooded her cheeks. "I didn't mean to pry. It's just... There aren't many who would refuse my sister."

A corner of the wizard's mouth gave a slight upward curl. "I'm not like, as you say, 'many', Mrs Malfoy."

"No... I reckon you're not."

There was something both daunting and fascinating in Narcissa's softness. Severus couldn't quite put his finger on why her gaze this evening rattled him more than usual, for she acted as radiant and meek-minded as she ever was. In fact, Narcissa Malfoy was one of only a handful of the Dark Lord's followers whom Severus didn't much mind; or give thought to. She hadn't taken the Mark as many of the others had and presented no real threat to anyone, so Severus hardly felt one way or another about her rather removed, quiet demeanour; but, like him, she was a surprisingly difficult read and that tended to put Severus on his guard. He hadn't yet worked out if Lucius's pretty trophy wife had an agenda of her own as the rest of them did; or if she was as simple, seemingly dim-witted, and as devoted a companion to her husband as she portrayed herself.

As with most matters involving his personal welfare and that of looking out for the underlying motivations of others, Severus could exercise patience in his assessment of Narcissa Malfoy. For the time being.

"I should get back," she said, terminating the short bit of silence that transpired. "I'm afraid I haven't been a good hostess. I'm much more suited to the company of my two-month old son than a room full of adults these days. Would you care to escort me back, Severus?"

"If you'd prefer."

"I would, thank you."

Severus politely offered the Malfoy matriarch his arm and they left the maze together without speaking. Halfway across the lawn, Narcissa punctured their quiet interval again. "I only meant to advise you before," she spoke plainly, the sincerity in her voice not withheld.

Severus chanced a curious glance down at the soft-spoken witch. Her eyes were not as lukewarm as they usually were. It might have been a reflection of the light, the last of the sun's warmth projecting onto them a certain depth of expression almost always reserved for her husband alone.

"I know," he replied, returning her regard with an unreadable gaze of his own.

Narcissa shot him a faint but happy smile. "I sense you don't care for anyone's counsel. You're a lone wolf, aren't you, Severus?"

Severus's eyebrows shot together. "A recluse I may be, but a werewolf I'm most certainly _not_."

Narcissa giggled and leaned on his arm. "I hope you realise that I meant no disrespect." Then her tone turned serious. "My sister's right, however unfortunate it may be: you should take someone, and soon. Surely, you do realise what the Dark Lord and the others expect of you?"

Severus slowed his gait as they drew closer to the back of the manor and Narcissa matched his rhythm. "I'm well aware of the terms, Mrs Malfoy."

"Narcissa, please," she requested gently. "In that case, I shan't stress them to you anymore." She bowed her head and unfurled her arm from around his. "Again, my apologies. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Severus."

Narcissa sauntered ahead of him into the house, where the growing unrest between Mulciber and Rosier could no longer be seen or detected. Either their argument had ended peacefully (unlikely) or it had been hexed into silence. None from the party were present and the back room was empty.

In silence, Severus followed Narcissa into the house, though he kept a considerable distance. He eyed her graceful silhouette as she flowed from room to room, in search of her husband and, no doubt, the rest of their vanished company.

They discovered most of her guests had retired to the drawing room, including Lucius, who had miraculously separated Mulciber and Rosier from one another. Both wizards occupied opposite sides of the room and were engaged in private, separate conversations. Rosier, more particularly, had a hand shoved up Eleanor's dress and was groping her openly. She, in turn, sucked his face, as if she was extracting every last bit of juice from a lemon.

 _Time to go_ , Severus determined, with an aggravated roll of his eyes. He had no wish to prolong his stay. He would offer his compliments about the party, say his goodnight to his host, and be off at last.

Narcissa had made her way over to her husband's side by the fireplace, where Lucius was in the midst of what appeared to be a rather hush-hush conversation with Rodolphus Lestrange. Her delicacy and dignity made her, to Severus, look entirely out of sorts amongst their unseemly guests, all of whom she either ignored wilfully or with obliviousness.

Unexpectedly, from across the room, she turned her gaze on Severus. The same uneasiness from earlier rushed at him, for there was an awareness he sensed in her scrutiny. It propelled his need to make his exit all the faster.

Perhaps all his reeling about the prophesy was driving him mad; or, perhaps, Severus saw something in Narcissa he hadn't perceived before: insight.

That was unacceptable.

* * *

 **A Few Months Later  
**

Severus plopped himself down in his mother's favourite wingback chair by the hearth, a bit of nostalgia tugging at the back of his mind. The green and purple patterns had long ago faded and were considerably worn and fraying along the seams. It needed reupholstering—the entire house could do with a great deal of work after all of his parents' neglect—but Severus was still in the early midst of settling into newfound homeownership.

He hadn't expected to inherit Spinner's End from his estranged father upon the old man's demise. In fact, at first, he had thought it some grave miscalculation read in Tobias Snape's will. Somehow, through some unexplainable turn of events, his father had showed his only son a snippet of decency, even if it was at the end of his miserable, wretched existence. It was more likely that his father hadn't gotten around to updating his and Eileen's will before his passing, however.

Considering he would no longer have to worry about providing a roof over his head, Severus was pleased. The mortgage was less than the rent he had been paying to live in that crummy flat outside of London. It hadn't taken him long to charm the small rooms and add his personal touches everywhere, with the intent of turning the source of his childhood trauma and suffering into a cosy abode he might actually come to _enjoy_ retreating to.

In three to four days he had converted his parents' bare, lifeless sitting room into a library piled high with books. A mixture of wizarding, muggle, and Dark Arts tomes lined the walls, with considerable room to grow his humble but substantial second-hand collection.

Books had long provided Severus the consolation he couldn't find in people. Of course, there had been one person in his youth who momentarily changed all of that—Lily Evans, now Potter—but their friendship had been rocky and, perhaps, doomed from the start. Severus couldn't have dreamt that just a few short years ago he and Lily would wind up on opposing sides of a wizarding war, and all over the magical superiority of bloodlines.

She had thought ill of him by their fifth year at school; he couldn't begin to imagine how lowly she must think him now. Then again, Severus thought with a pang of regret, she probably never gave him a second thought these days, whilst his thoughts, even amongst the comforts of his books and a strong glass of Firewhiskey, _still_ bent to her—always those wondrous green eyes and vibrant red hair—and the painful reminders of a dear friendship lost to wizarding warfare.

 _She was right_ , he lamented, alone, shifting in his mother's chair and swigging back a large gulp of his drink. It burnt like an Unforgivable Curse as it seeped down the back of his throat. _She was right about everything..._

Wearing a pensive scowl, Severus studied his half-empty cup at length, his pale fingers curling tighter around the glass. There was another avenue he could pursue. Of course, it would mean risking not only betraying the people he no longer considered his friends (with the exception of, perhaps, the Malfoys), but hadn't choosing the path of a Death Eater basically marked him for death?

 _Pun intended_ , he snorted into his glass, though the heaviness marking his face didn't cease. _There's still one option left. It might not work—you might even wind up dead—but he_ just _might listen to you, and he_ just _might be able to keep them safe. Dumbledore._

* * *

 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes : **Thank you, again, to those reviewing and following along! As I've previously forewarned, _this is not a happy tale_...but that doesn't seem to be deterring anyone, so lets get on with it!

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

" _She had a poison; a dignity that was ageless."_

— _The Country Girl_

* * *

 **February 1982**

Narcissa had let her tea run cold, unaware of the lengthy time wasted idly sitting in her chair and stirring her cup without taking a sip. Her husband was evidently apt to do likewise, for neither of them had had much of an appetite. Narcissa glanced at her husband from across their sprawling dining room table. His features, normally smooth and refined, and illuminated by two ivory candelabras at the centre of their dining arrangement, looked a far cry from the handsome, prestigious wizard she had married just a few short years ago. Lucius looked dreadful, in fact, absent, with his mind far, far away from the confines of their stately room. For a wizard in his prime, his fractured state left the impression of a much older gentleman than his twenty-eight years would suggest. His long, blond locks were dishevelled and in need of a wash and his face was ghostly pale and scruffy. Narcissa detested facial hair and enjoyed her husband's face glossy and well-kept. He did so for her benefit, really, because he respected _her_ preferences; because he treasured _her_. Of course, he did still value his wife, but there were more pressing matters at stake than one's appearance these days, particularly for the Malfoys.

Lucius's vacant expression caused Narcissa to look away quickly. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, a silly, empty gesture as she hadn't eaten or drank an ounce from the plentiful platter in front of her, which had been heartily prepared by their house-elves. She couldn't recall the last time she and Lucius had had a proper appetite for food; for _life_. It took every fibre of their beings to drag themselves from the shelter of their bed these days, and not because of what used to be regularly passionate sex.

In recent months, she and Lucius had barely escaped prosecution from Magical Law Enforcement—and some of the more paranoid Death Eaters in their social circles—with their lives. Lucius had wanted to flee the country in the weeks following the Dark Lord's disappearance on October 31st, to the astonishment of all. It was at Narcissa's bidding that they and their son had remained in their home. Most nights she stressed over whether or not that had been the right course of action, but she didn't want to spend the rest of her free moments running either, cowering in fear and hiding from the world which had so drastically spun on a galleon, slipping through their fingers like smoke.

No, if she and Lucius were to tuck themselves away they would do so in plain sight, as it were, surrounded by the familiar trappings of the manor that Lucius had lawfully inherited from his father; until the Wizengamot might eventually come for them. And coming for them was looking more certain by the day.

Narcissa was sure that her husband was going to spend, at least, _some_ time in prison. She was less certain of her own fate, and yet, wasn't as terrified as she suspected she ought to be. Most of those who had taken the Dark Mark had been arrested and received harsh sentences already, including her dear sister, Bellatrix; but those without the Mark were generally facing a year or less in Azkaban.

Having not taken the Mark herself, and with Lucius adamantly defending her and insisting that Narcissa had 'merely gone along' with the Death Eaters because of _him_ , the possibility of an arrest was becoming slimmer and slimmer. Lucius, on the other hand, was likely to face a punishment of some sort, they just didn't know to what extent yet.

All the galleons in the world hadn't secured him a decent wizarding barrister, for starters, and Lucius had had to stand up and defend himself in court. No one in this new era of a seemingly vanquished Dark Lord was interested in defending the welfare of Death Eaters, nor the supposedly submissive-mannered wives who mindlessly tagged alongside their husbands' polluted ideologies, so Lucius had taken it upon himself to claim his and Narcissa's innocence. Now they waited, and each day was more drawn out and excruciating than the last.

'Innocence' was a bit of a stretch in their case but it was stressed, nonetheless. Lucius had insisted to Magical Law Enforcement in the weeks following Lord Voldemort's disappearance that he had been placed under the Imperius Curse for much of the wizard's hungry rise to power. He secured this lie before having his wand stripped of his person and his mind thoroughly checked out by MLE, and with Narcissa as his steady alibi (though not a particularly solid one).

The couple had found themselves leaning on a rather ambivalent source in the hopes of lessening their troubles and fastening their freedom: Severus Snape. Now a Potions professor working under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore, Severus had stunned Narcissa by agreeing to hers and Lucius's scheme when approached last November. It had been a risk to go to the man for help, for, as Lucius argued with his wife in private, the 'former' Death Eater could have had them arrested on the spot and thrown in Azkaban with so much as a wink. The Wizengamot wasn't interested in giving their kind a fair shake, after all.

Lucius hadn't been convinced of Severus Snape's allegiance either, and Narcissa had had to convince her husband to seek his old friend's assistance. When he agreed to help them out, Lucius changed his tune. 'Severus Snape's loyalties to the Dark Lord are unchanged!' he declared, overjoyed at their stroke of luck. 'You were right, Cissy! You were right about him all along!'

In spite of this relief, Narcissa's heart remained unsettled. She still lied awake at night wondering if her husband was going to be taken from her, severed from her and their son for Merlin-knew-how-long. Severus's testimony to the Wizengamot on Lucius's behalf wasn't stopping Lucius from possibly facing judgment either, which would be decided upon next Tuesday morning.

Now, the Malfoys could only pray that their plan had been corroborated convincingly enough to get Lucius off. The waiting was aggravating and Lucius's emotional distance from her wasn't consoling to their plight.

Narcissa finally took a meagre sip of her cold tea and cringed at its discomforting blend and temperature; but that wasn't all that had her disgusted. After all of her husband's careful planning and propositioning to secure hers and Draco's future, she and Lucius had wound up on the wrong side of things, and the reality made her sick to her stomach. Whilst she could acknowledge that they had no one to blame but themselves for their present dicey circumstances, she was infuriated with Lucius, nevertheless; galled that he would put his family in such peril. It seemed an increasingly impossible feat for them to climb their way out of.

Narcissa stomped down her anger, as she always did, by taking several deep breaths to re-establish her cool. She glanced at Lucius again, though he was staring impassively at his silver fork, twirling it around in hand without thought. She scowled from across the table. "Have you called on him yet?"

Lucius's steel grey eyes blinked and fluttered towards her, dazed and, at first, puzzled by her question. "What?"

"Have you called on him yet?" she repeated.

"I..." He sighed. "No."

"Why not?"

"He's already given his testimony on my behalf."

" _And_?"

"There's nothing more he can do for us, Cissy."

"How would you know?" she pressed, her pretty hands balling beneath the table. "Have you asked him?"

A combination of sadness and defeat flashed across Lucius's eyes. "Cissy, please..."

"Well, _why not_?" Narcissa snapped. She threw her napkin onto her lap with a great huff. "He's the only link that might keep your hide out of Azkaban, Lucius!"

"I know that." He lowered his eyes, his face drained of feeling, and twirled his fork some more.

Narcissa lost her nerve. " _How can you be so calm_?" she cried out, her eyes brimming with tears; tears of devastation and what they were potentially to face in a few days' time. She had done a lot of crying of late, and she despised it. Crying was for the weak, and she most certainly was _not_ a weakling. "You should be making arrangements! We should be devising another plan! You should be thinking of _me_ , Lucius; of your _son_! Why must I do everything?"

Lucius's chair slid back so suddenly and violently that Narcissa startled in her chair. He stood up in a flash, hands fisted at his sides, the rapid anger he had been withholding radiating off of him like a tidal wave crashing to shore. "Enough," he whispered, and his threat was clear as much as his hands visibly shook.

Narcissa quieted, but hot tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. She swallowed the wrathful words that were on the tip of her tongue and brought her napkin to her mouth to quench back further sobs.

Lucius's bit of peeving subsided. His stiffened shoulders slumped and his hands unfurled, but he said nothing. Their exchange had reached an impasse. He removed himself from Narcissa's presence with a passing flicker of his gaze and fluttering of his robes.

Once he was out of sight, a skittish-appearing house-elf popped into the room and approached Narcissa. "Should I clear Master's plate, Mame?" the house-elf squeaked, its ears twitching nervously as it spoke.

"Yes, Dobby," Narcissa replied, though she choked out the command. She squashed the want to breakdown and, with a reclaimed air of detachment, brought her napkin to her plate. "I believe we're both finished."

Dobby scrambled to push his mistress's chair back as she left the table, silent, yet imposing in her stride. He was tempted to take her arm and offer her a comforting word or two, but she crossed the room and disappeared before the house-elf could consider chancing the unthinkable.

* * *

 **Hours Later**

"Mrs Malfoy," greeted Severus, his tone slow and collected but curious. He pulled his heavy office door wider to inspect his unanticipated guest, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at the elusive witch in his doorway. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Narcissa, please. I hope it's not too late for visitors?" She couldn't prevent the sense of urgency in her voice. The hood of her cape kept her face half shadowed.

Severus propelled his door open fully to permit Narcissa in, gesturing in silence for her to enter. Narcissa hastened inside and, at last, lowered her hood.

Her visit to meet with Severus Snape had turned into a whim and wasn't without a certain uneasiness. Not only did the Headmaster likely know she was here outside of visitation hours, but she didn't know the man she was seeking out all too well; Lucius knew him far better. Yet, there was something about Severus that Narcissa felt she could trust, and it didn't have to do with his recent testimony on her husband's behalf alone. She hoped she wasn't about to find herself gravely mistaken. He had been kind to her in their few exchanges in the past, if not a bit standoffish, but the prospect before her was nerve-wracking and carried with it the potential to fall disastrously apart before it could begin.

Narcissa gave a quick turnabout of the professor's cosy office space, soaking in the worn, comfy-looking furnishings, including a roaring fireplace and a strange collection of objects on display in glass jars behind his wooden desk. These didn't alarm her. She had greatly enjoyed Potion-making herself whilst she was at school and excelled at it in much the same way as Severus had.

 _Some things don't change_ , she mused, vaguely recalling the reclusive, studious Severus from their youths. Her eyes fell upon him again, the aim of her visit. Severus had closed the door and taken a step closer to her, eying her impenetrably through a pair of moonless eyes. There was a subtle, heightened curiosity in them, however.

Narcissa sucked in a breath, thankful for the muffling charm she perceived to be in place. She half wondered if that was a standard precaution amongst the Hogwarts professors to keep nosy students from listening in on their conversations. Regardless, it would certainly be a necessary precaution for _this_ exchange, no matter the outcome.

"I'm sorry, again, for the late hour," she reiterated. "I hope I haven't disturbed you, Severus?"

"Not at all," came his nonchalant response. He sounded either unbothered or uninterested and if it was the latter, Narcissa suspected that that was about to change. "Is it Lucius?" Narcissa shook her head. "Oh..." A puzzled frown formed across the wizard's pale countenance.

"Well, not entirely," Narcissa confessed. She could feel a blush pervading her cheeks and tried to discard it.

Severus's steady gaze surveyed hers. "I see..."

Feeling the flutter of nerves in her stomach threatening to get the better of her, Narcissa began to pace. She was certain that Severus could read her anxieties like a map and tugged off her leather gloves, coiling them between her fingers. "As you may know," she began once she thought she had regained her confidence, "my husband's sentencing is coming soon."

"Next week, I believe?"

"Yes. Tuesday, at nine o'clock." Narcissa's proud face suddenly lost much of its colour, altering into an expression of desperation and dread. "And I... I'm frightened, Severus. I fear your testimony on Lucius's behalf won't be enough to keep him out of Azkaban."

Severus gave a gradual nod. That, and his following reply, saw Narcissa's chest caving. "I confess, I've thought the same." He paused, as if thinking how to best frame his next words. "You must understand, Mrs Malfoy, it was always going to be a challenge to convince the Wizengamot that Lucius didn't follow the Dark Lord's bidding of his own free will. We all knew what we were doing. Most of the Wizengamot aren't that foolish."

Panic rippled below Narcissa's fair skin. "He's not bad, Lucius. I _know_ he's not. He's been...misguided."

"Oh?" The brittle fraudulence in Severus's countering didn't go amiss; it almost sounded like contempt directed at her. "Have _I_ been misguided, too, Mrs Malfoy? Have your sister and others as well?"

Narcissa stilled, her heart thumping faster. "I think we've _all_ been a bit...lost these past few years, wouldn't you agree, Severus?" she tried for gentle coaxing, wanting to better read the complex individual in front of her. "Not all, I know, but surely...some of us...?"

Severus's dark irises softened, though marginally. "Perhaps," he replied, his answer unclear, before he abruptly forced Narcissa to her point. "What is it you want from me?"

Narcissa raised her head, her hands curling tighter around her fancy gloves. "You've already done so much for us, Severus. I— _We_ 're—indebted to you."

"And I haven't forgotten."

Narcissa halted. The underlying suggestion Severus made had taken her aback, and she staggered to recover from it, carrying on as calmly as possible once she re-established her jumbled thoughts, "But I must ask another favour of you. It's... It's about my boy. And me."

Severus's raised eyebrow drew higher on his forehead. "Go on."

"If Lucius is sent away, I... I'm not sure how we'll get on. There are certain matters—certain responsibilities—which Lucius has neglected to teach me. I'm not an idiot," she added, with feeling, "but I've only ever been a wife in Lucius's eyes. I've allowed him to pull all the strings, you see, and those strings may soon become mine to operate. I'm not sure if it's out of denial about what may happen to him or that manly pride of his, but I _need_ to learn how to take care of us, Severus. Properly.

"And... And then there's Draco. He'll need male guidance and stability in his life once— _if_ —his father's put away."

As if sensing what was to follow, Severus threw up a hand to stop her from continuing. "I'm hardly qualified to provide that, Mrs Malfoy."

" _Narcissa_." The frustration churning her stomach rose in depth. "You work with children, Severus, for Merlin's sake!"

"That doesn't qualify me to be any sort of proper parental figure," Severus stressed, bringing his hand back to his side. "I must respectfully decline your request."

Narcissa frowned, confused. "But _why_?"

"In my position, I'm forced to oversee the welfare of hundreds of sodding dunderheads every single day. I can't be a responsible overseer to _your_ son as well. I have enough on my hands—"

"I'm not asking you to be his bloody nanny, Severus!" Narcissa huffed. "I'm asking for your support and to provide Draco with a sense of moral decorum that he can emulate!"

"'Moral Decorum'?" Severus snorted, and a peculiar glimmer flashed across his eyes that had Narcissa rearing backward, spooked. "Who do you think I am, Mrs Malfoy?"

At the sight of her mouth opening and closing but apparently ill-equipped to answer, Severus sneered and inched closer. "Come now," he icily provoked, "you were five years my senior at this school. You may not have taken much notice of me, but that doesn't alter the fact that we've been running in the same social circles for years. Your husband wished to make me godfather to your son, but you refused. Ah, yes, you're surprised that I know all about that? Lucius told me. He was embarrassed, naturally; you forced him to go back on his word after he believed you'd have no qualms with his choice."

Severus's eyes, cool and soulless, thickened in their darkness. "Why should I help you and your sorry little brat now?"

Narcissa could hardly believe her ears. Flustered and enraged, she raised her hand to strike him. " _How dare you_!" she exclaimed.

Illustrating startlingly swift reflexes, Severus snatched Narcissa's wrist from the air before her hand could reach his face. "Yes," he snarled, lowly, menacingly, "you're correct, Mrs Malfoy: you _are_ in my debt, and your presence tonight allows me to present you with a request of my own."

"' _Request'_?" she shrieked and tried to wiggle her arm free, though her attempts were futile. "Oh, you've got some nerve!"

"Quite. It would appear that it's served me well."

"I didn't come here to—"

"To what," he snarled, his grip around her small wrist tightening; she winced, "to beseech me that I accommodate you _again_ because you and your sorry excuse for a husband are so helpless and don't have a ruddy leg to stand on anymore?"

"Stop it!" Narcissa gasped, near whimpering at his brutal assassination of her family's character. Sadly, he was in some form right about them, but that didn't mean she was game to hear it. She could feel tears stinging her eyes and tried to extract rage in their stead. "We - We came to you for help! Because we thought you were..."

"What, that I was your _friend_?" Severus spat with such derision that, to Narcissa, it felt like a harsh hex straight to the chest. He withdrew his grasp, tossing her arm aside and her with it. "Your husband's only ever used me for what might result in his own personal gain. You're no better."

" _Please_!" Narcissa implored. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached out and grabbed a hold of the front of Severus's robes, catching his startled reaction.

"You say you want my help?" he heckled through gritted teeth once he had recovered.

Narcissa trembled but managed to hold back her tears. "Y - Yes."

Severus paused to stare down his long, hooked nose at her, though Narcissa carried on clinging to him, unwilling to let go. "You say you want me to teach you how to take care of matters once Lucius is gone?"

"Yes!"

"To help secure a future for you and Draco and protect you from whatever is to come?"

"Yes, _please_!"

"Then I want something of equal exchange in return."

Narcissa blinked up at him, her blue, watery eyes nonplussed. Staring into his harsh, unyielding expression—at the only person who may well provide her and her son the safe haven they so desperately needed—Narcissa's mouth went dry at the ugly truth of what it would take. "I... I can give you money," she begged, breathless.

Severus scowled in offense. "I don't want money."

"Surely, you could use it—"

"Don't beg for my assistance and then aim to insult me," he growled and shoved her backward.

Narcissa shivered, righted herself, and lowered her gaze. She took a few moments to gather her wits and, once she felt somewhat in control of her composure, lifted her eyes. She no longer wished to look upon this wretched man, who moments ago she thought to be someone whom she could count on—a saviour, even—but her hopes had been dashed and all that remained was the sour aftertaste of what was the truth.

"What is it you want in return, Severus?" she half questioned, half dreaded to find out.

A smile curled Severus's thin lips. He stalked forward, pinning Narcissa's feet to the floor with those nebulous black eyes. For the first time since the witch could recall in recent memory—at least, since coming into contact with the harrowing Dark Lord a few years ago—Narcissa felt utterly paralysed with fear.

"I believe you _know_ ," he murmured, a light but lethal buzz prickling the air around them.

"I..." Narcissa felt as if the natural ventilation surrounding her was collapsing and robbing her of breath. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he avowed, without hesitation.

Narcissa's heart froze. "But I... I love my husband!" Her declaration was fretful, quiet, but no less earnest.

"I'm not asking for something as pitiful as your feelings." A rough hand latched around Narcissa's chin and tugged her closer; she squirmed but, physically, could do nothing to stop him. "I'm requesting _you_ to appease _me_ in return for all that I have bestowed on you and your husband—and at great personal risk to my own freedom, I might add—as well as for what you're asking me to do _in addition_ to what I've already provided, you selfish cunt."

A tear slipped down Narcissa's cheek. "Please, don't..."

"I helped you," he reminded her, giving way to a passionate, animal-like growl, and bore his crooked teeth, "and I shall help you again, _if_ you consent to my demands."

Narcissa tried to swallow, but her throat was parched. She started to ask for—demand, rather, and feebly—a one-time arrangement but, to her dismay, Severus cut her off. "Until _I_ have deemed it a fair trade. That's the deal."

Narcissa recoiled. A sickening sensation was shredding her insides, screaming at her to turn away now. "But...you can't just..." she lurched, feeling her heart sink the more her mind reeled over his proposal. There was no alternative, unless she wished to have hers and Lucius's lie exposed, her husband sent to Azkaban for good, and hers and Draco's lives left to ruin.

Severus's smile stretched across his sallow skin, as though he had perused Narcissa's inner turmoil and drawn the same conclusions. "Oh, I believe I _can_ ," he affirmed softly, like a poison seeping under her skin. "You _know_ I can."

A few more tears evaded Narcissa's grit, betraying her determination not to show defeat. "But _why_?" The words were becoming harder to form. "How can you do such a thing?"

"If you were looking for upstanding morality, Mrs Malfoy, perhaps you might have considered looking _outside_ of your husband's social circle." Narcissa jerked, injured, but Severus stared on, unfazed. "Then again, no one would believe your change of heart, would they, nor would anyone have any desire to help you?

"Your oversights are not mine to lament, however. Have we reached an accord?"

Narcissa turned away from him. In a flurry of carelessness, she considered running out the door. You couldn't Apparate in and out of Hogwarts—she remembered that well from her school days—but she might be able to outrun him, so long as her springy legs didn't give out before she reached the edge of the massive school grounds.

 _And what then?_ her conscience entreated her, bringing such ridiculous deliberations to a screeching halt.

While she had sorely mistaken Severus Snape as a man whom she could depend on in a crisis, he most certainly wasn't a wizard to double-cross. In her gross miscalculations, she had unburdened her fears for the future to him, of how ill prepared she was to face a world without her husband, and he was likely to use those weaknesses against her, whether to his own advantage or to others whom the Malfoys were no longer in good standing. And their enemies were many.

There was also the terrible probability that Lucius would, in all likelihood, be furious with her for seeking outside help, if he knew, especially from that of another man. Narcissa knew how much Lucius relished his control over her and, whilst he had strayed within their marriage a couple times before, she had never done the same, and she didn't need any insinuations planted into her husband's pretty head now. She knew well how people 'talked', particularly about families known to be Dark Lord supporters, and such heavy gossip could prove damaging not only to their future but to their marriage.

Narcissa had little doubt that Severus Snape could ensure such devastation was wrought upon her and her family to the farthest corners of the country. He hadn't secured the confidence of the likes of Albus Dumbledore lightly, so Narcissa could only image what other horrors this man might have up his sleeve to use against her, if he felt so inclined.

 _How could you have been so blind?_ Narcissa cursed herself. She uselessly twisted her gloves in hand, thinking, unwinding. Finally, she whirled towards him, her breathing erratic. "I could tell him!" she stammered, her threat unsteady. "I could tell Lucius of your despicable offer; of how you wanted to claim his wife for yourself!"

"'Offer'?" he challenged, his tone both dangerously quiet and unaffected. "No, you're mistaken. This isn't an offer, my dear, it's a demand."

Narcissa drew back again. " _I'll tell him_!"

To her horror, Severus didn't flinch. "You may do so, but I'd advise against it. It would be most unwise."

" _What_?"

"You know I'm capable of inflicting far worse damage than what you're ready to confront, Narcissa." It was the first time he had addressed her by her first name, but it was easily lost in their heightening, heated exchange behind muffled castle walls. "I suggest you not force my hand."

Narcissa squared her shoulders, even as her body quaked in anger and distress. "And if Lucius gets off?" she contested, hoping—praying—that that might deter him.

The aggression in Severus's stare overwhelmed her, for he didn't so much as blink, shift, or look ill-at-ease. "My request still stands. I suggest you make it right for everyone's sake, most of all your son."

The last of Narcissa's fight deflated. "You...! You make me sick!" she whimpered. Despite her words being barely above a whisper, the hate was potent.

Severus's expression was, much to her disappointment, unmoved. His callous tongue wasn't, however, as he spat in return, "Your personal feelings are irrelevant to me."

Narcissa felt as though she was staring down the vessel of a drawn wand that was about to obliterate her future from this world, from the precipice of what was wrong and what was worse. There could be no retreat. Staring down her enemy, and confined to the boundaries of stone, Narcissa shrunk, helpless in her next move.

Severus returned her stare for a compelling, drawn out silence. Then he shattered it with a pressing question, "Do we have an accord or not?"

Narcissa, though emotionally crippled, slowly, painfully, nodded her head. As quickly as she agreed, she flung the hood of her cloak over her face, not wishing to appraise Severus any longer, and made a hopeless rush for the door. Severus was by her side before she could make her escape, however, having sealed the door wordlessly, exercising a mere flick of his wand.

Narcissa cursed under her breath and glared up at him, tears unabashedly pouring down her face. He stunned her by reaching out and grazing her quivering lips, tracing their outline with a coarse but gentle index finger. Narcissa froze. His touch was shockingly delicate for such a hideous man, thoughtful and effective, and prompted goose bumps to emerge on parts of the witch's flesh that were (thankfully) concealed beneath her clothes.

Narcissa watched Severus's dark eyes rove over her face, their depths half lidded but apparently enamoured with whatever they gathered. Perhaps he was basking in his moment of triumph; at she, his catch. She really didn't know, but there was something surely cocksure and intense about him that had mutated from minutes ago when he had acted only cold and detached.

The way he touched her was driven but cautious, inquisitive, and yet, purposeful. It was abridged but breathless and before Narcissa knew it, he had withdrawn his hand. He brushed his own mouth with the same curious fingertip. Then he met her startled gaze. "Don't tell your husband," he commanded as he dropped his hand out of sight, "and all will be well."

She felt Severus's wards, at last, release her of her prison. A normally poised Narcissa stumbled into the chilly corridor outside of Severus's office at once and was nearly knocked off her feet by the tremendous slamming of the door behind her.

Shouldn't she have spat in his face before she left? Cursed him? Drawn her wand? Asked him to touch her elsewhere?

Narcissa shuddered and immediately made to expel such horrific thoughts from her troubled mind. His cautionary words were ringing in her ears as she staggered away from Hogwarts that night under the cloak of darkness: 'I'm capable of inflicting far worse damage than what you're ready to confront.'

Suddenly, Narcissa understood.

* * *

 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Sorry, been sick and working like crazy. I'm not sure where the majority of folks went lol, but for those who remain, thank you for your continued commenting and here's Chapter 4!

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

" _War makes strange bedfellows."_

—Helen Thomas

* * *

 **July 1997**

He exhaled in his sleep, his chest expanding and brushing lightly against her shoulder blades. Narcissa's arms entwined tighter around his, affixing them to her as he carried on in a deep slumber, unaware that she was still awake. They rarely fell asleep at the same time. He almost always caved to sleep before she did. She understood why, even if he never uttered a word about the nightmare that was his life, but it still surprised her that he allowed such a small but potentially hazardous reprieve, and in her presence, no less.

Did he know how vulnerable that made him? Did he honestly care?

 _Not likely._

Perhaps it meant that he trusted her. She wasn't sure if that was wise on his part, but it warmed her insides, regardless. She knew it ought not to.

 _You should be disgusted. You should leave._

Hot breaths prickled the back of Narcissa's neck, followed by a series of sluggish, sleep-induced mumblings she didn't understand. She turned her head towards the naked figure curled up behind her in the dark and grazed a hand over his exposed cheek. His five o'clock shadow was course and scratchy beneath her fingertips. It was mystifying to not mind the sensation when she detested Lucius wearing any tint of a beard or a moustache. His enviously long eyelashes fluttered beneath her touch but remained closed.

Relief washed over her. He would have instantly shoved her away if he awoke and found her staring at him. He would have rejected her sincerity, her caresses, any shred of kindness she bestowed on him in the dead of night where no one else could see.

Why was she detestable to him? And why did she tolerate his antipathy, regularly returning for more of the same maltreatment?

 _That fucking inevitable question, 'Cissa, which you refuse to face_ , her tired mind rued as she rolled over onto her side again. A family portrait of proud, beaming faces stared back at her on her bedside table—her, Lucius, and Draco shortly before the start of his first year at Hogwarts, during a seemingly much happier time—but only her son's smiling eyes truly shone through.

Wiry, strong arms stiffened in sleep and held Narcissa closer. She hopelessly sunk into their embrace. It was a false sense of affection, after all, this want and need for her; this lazy but earnest pull towards the witch as he dreamt.

 _Of someone else._ She squeezed her eyes shut. _I'll never be her._

Narcissa tried to empty her mind. Pain that she could block out could afford to stick around, if it must.

She fell asleep rather easily that night, to the security of being encapsulated in his sturdy embrace, but she roused to the foggy morn alone once more, in a messy, cold bed that was hers alone. She bemoaned in silence as she ran her hand over the empty pillowcase next to her, still moulded to his outline.

* * *

 **Summer, Circa 1974**

"You should say 'yes', Cissy."

Eighteen-year old Narcissa, her blue eyes dreamy and wandering over a page of The Daily Prophet whilst she hummed to herself atop her four-poster bed, turned her sights casually towards her older sister. She crossed her ankles, lowered her copy of the gossipy newspaper, and arched her eyebrows. "What?" she asked.

Bellatrix snorted, rolled her mischievous dark eyes at her, and hopped onto Narcissa's bed, her shiny black hair bouncy lightly. " _Lucius_ ," she stressed and poked Narcissa squarely on the shoulder. "You should say 'yes' to Lucius! Father approves of him, you know. And he approves of the money, too."

Narcissa frowned and decidedly turned her attention back to the Prophet. "He hasn't proposed to me, Bella."

" _So_? Maybe you ought to edge him along. Merlin knows men can be blockheads when it comes to such matters. You don't want him to have the time to get cold feet, do you?"

"Why is the money so important to you anyway?" Narcissa pressed her from behind her newspaper, an air of suspicion lingering on her tongue.

The glamorously-looking, dark-haired witch tossed pieces of her hair off to one side and scrutinised the outline of her younger sister closely, equally as fetching in appearance. "Why shouldn't it be? He's well off; much more bankable than my Rodolphus, that's for sure! You'd be taken care of, Cissy. Mother and Father won't have to worry about you, and you won't have to work a day in your life!"

Narcissa frowned, though Bellatrix couldn't see her reaction from her blocked viewpoint. "Why would doing nothing interest me?"

"Why _wouldn't_ it?" Bellatrix challenged, her voice crackling with haughty laugher. "Merlin, Cissy, have you any idea how much easier you'll have it than the rest of us?"

Narcissa dropped her newspaper again and shot Bellatrix a grave expression. "It won't be that much easier for me, Bella, and I don't intend to marry Lucius for his money. If we _do_ marry, it will be for love."

Bellatrix's decisive second eye roll had Narcissa stiffening. She also sneered at her in a condescending manner that brought Narcissa further disgruntlement. Her sister had a knack for treating her like some birdbrained, helpless ninny.

"Wait 'till you start living together, Cissy. That will change. _Trust me_ ," she added at the pretty, naïve witch's affronted glare, "it always does. People aren't the same once they're living under the same roof twenty four-seven."

With a final, thoughtful roving of her fingers through her sister's locks, Bellatrix stood from Narcissa's bedside and strolled off, leaving the young thing to fret and ponder. Narcissa quickly forgot about the Prophet's latest juicy details on someone or other, a non-pure-blood with an easily forgettable name. Apparently it had been an uneventful summer for the wizarding news business.

She glanced down at the purple and emerald-stone promise ring that cradled her fourth finger of her left hand, freshly unnerved. Lucius had surprised her with it after taking her NEWTs. A sudden bundle of uneasiness twisted her gut.

What if Bellatrix was right? What if a marriage built upon love was, ultimately, doomed to fail? Her parents had once been madly in love but now they basically co-existed, more focused on marrying off their daughters to wealthy bachelors than working on their own marital woes. What if she and Lucius were fated to wind up hating each other?

The thought was hard to fathom, seeing as how much Narcissa adored him. Sure, Lucius could sometimes grate on her last nerve, but he enjoyed getting her riled up and it was entirely for sport. He could be a bit of a brute in the bedroom too, but during their school days he had also opened up a whole other world of sexual possibilities to the demure, uneducated youngest Black daughter.

She loved him dearly, and he loved her. What more did one require? The fact that he came from a wealthy pure-blood family was an added bonus.

 _And anyway, what does Bella know about love?_ Narcissa snorted to herself.

Her sister and her ogre of a husband, Rodolphus, had been married for a few years, and theirs was a union of convenience for their families, not borne out of mutual affections. Bellatrix's choice in a partner made Narcissa all the more certain from the side-lines of what she didn't want for her future self. She swore up and down that she would never enter into _that_ kind of an arrangement, where griping at each other was a regular occurrence, respect was non-existent from the start, and affairs on both ends soured the illusion of a happy marriage.

Narcissa had no idea how her other sister, Andromeda, was fairing in her new marriage, and she found herself suddenly longing for her sister's sound advice. The recent scandal in marrying a muggle-born had disowned Andromeda from the Black family, and Narcissa hadn't seen her eldest sister since the beginning of the summer during Andromeda's final fiery blow up with their parents.

It seemed that she had only herself, alone, to depend upon in this matter. _Bella's just jealous_ , she deduced whilst mindlessly turning her promise ring round and round. _She wants what you have. And she's always had a bloody 'thing' for Lucius and thinks you're some kind of bleedin' twat who doesn't see! Forget about what she said. She's not one to impart marital wisdom to anyone._

Narcissa sat up and laced her arms across her chest, resolve settling upon her beautifully pale, prepossessing countenance. _Bella's right about one thing, though_ , she considered as she slipped off of her bed and headed for her closet to don something fancier for this evening that would hopefully make her boyfriend's head spin. _Time to get Lucius moving on that marriage proposal._

* * *

 **December 1996**

Narcissa collapsed onto the tiled bathroom floor, her ripped, powder blue robes fanning out around her like blossoming petals might unfurl to receive their much-needed nutrients from the obliging skies, only to be drowned by a torrential downpour. There was no solace to be found in this cramped, dark space that wasn't hers, and yet, the compulsion to remain overpowered her.

Spinner's End was a gloomy, depressing place, but Narcissa took an odd sense of comfort in its inferior muggle location, meagre furnishings, and narrow corridors that were rarely well lit. It veiled the seediness of their endeavours. The home, tired and submitted, seemed to match her dark moods as well as that of its owner. It was fitting to their circumstances, really, even if they were grossly unwise.

When would she ever learn? Narcissa laid her head against the wall and stared at the spindly, ashen man slumped against the wall opposite her. Wet clumps of black hair clung to his unsightly face, masking all but his strange eyes. They were vacant, yet intense, as they bore into hers. Dried blood covered his slender digits, embedded beneath his too long fingernails. They hadn't washed out. There was still evidence of the same blood—either his own or belonging to another unfortunate soul—splattered across the front of his frock coat as well. She didn't care how it had gotten there or why; she had ceased to pay mind a long time ago.

He addressed her matter-of-factly moments later, whilst breathing hard through flared nostrils, "I'm responsible, you know."

Narcissa gave a slim shake of her head, too exhausted to put forth a more expressive effort. "I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

"I know how he operates."

An unusual glint flickered across his eyes. "Yet, you feel nothing?" He sounded genuinely surprised, perhaps for the first time in their many sordid encounters.

"Of course I feel. He's my husband."

There was a thoughtful pause. "I don't understand you," he eventually confessed.

She shrugged and offered him a depleted smile. "I hardly understand myself anymore." She paused too before adding, her voice softer and wrought with repressed emotion, "I care about you. It's unfortunate, but there it is."

There was little reaction to what should have been compelling words, though his angular jaw visibly tightened. "You know you shouldn't."

"That won't stop me from giving a damn anyhow."

"You can't afford to love us both," Severus insisted in a gentler register he rarely bestowed on her. She preferred it.

Narcissa drew up onto her knees, ignoring the physical discomfort of bits of chipped tile cutting into her skin, and whispered back, "Try me."

At last, there was a reaction: a deeply set frown. "None of this is going to end well. It must stop...sooner or later."

"I can't."

"'Cissa—"

"You've made that bloody impossible for me, and you know it."

Severus cocked his head, a few additional damp hairs draping across his nose. "I don't see how."

"I know that this," she attested, gesturing towards the small invisible gap that separated them, "matters to you too."

His scowl lengthened, rigid and unbending. His eyebrows also came to together. "I'm unable to love you the way that you want."

Narcissa tried to ram the pain building inside of her somewhere that it couldn't be touched, but it was useless. She was wounded. _Again._ She blurted out, "You could bleedin' well _try_!"

Severus's frown softened a touch. "You'll only get hurt, 'Cissa."

"Not any more than I already have been!" She reached out her hand and latched onto his ankle, purposely digging her nails into his flesh. "You torture me, you know that? _You. Torture. Me_."

"You torture yourself." In a fit of rage, he kicked her hand away; she gasped but kept her hand suspended in the air. "I never promised you anything," he spat.

"Why is it so hard for you to care about someone else?" she demanded, unable to hold back angry tears, as Severus leapt to his feet and tried to maneuverer around her so as to escape her presence. "I'm telling you that _I_ care! For _yo_ u! Why must you be so wretched?"

He didn't answer. He swept out of the loo before she could catch him. His harsh footsteps echoed from the bedroom to the hall and faded. The silence was bitter.

Narcissa began to weep, her uncontrollable sobs flooding the wizard's second level with their guttural aches and anguish. She would cry for hours.

* * *

 **August 1997**

"Cissy?"

"Yes, love?"

Narcissa slid her wand beneath her embroidered wrist and gave Lucius her full-on gaze. His address had been unanticipated, putting her, at once, on pins and needles, though he had yet to turn and face her. He hadn't spoken since lunch and even then, his words had been scarce, faint, and uncharacteristically hoarse for the well-spoken man.

Azkaban had broken her husband of nearly twenty years in more ways than one, leaving her ill prepared and ill confident as to how to bring him 'round. He wasn't eating much, he barely spoke more than three to five words at a time, and he acted unwilling to reconnect with her; or, perhaps, she more likely thought, with sadness, he was unable to.

Lucius had been home only a short while—five days—and Narcissa understood that she needed to exercise patience, but she was sick with worry. She had no idea what Lucius was thinking anymore; or if he thought much at all. His communication was limited, and his eyes were no longer expressive. Narcissa couldn't help but lament to herself that Azkaban might have finally robbed her husband of all emotional want and love for her. She refused to confess this concern to Draco. There was no reason to break her son's fragile heart as well.

When Lucius didn't carry on talking, Narcissa rose from her favourite chair in their Blue Room, also known as the family drawing room, and proceeded across the floor to where her husband idly stood. She wove her arms behind him, wanting to hug him around the middle. He started at her embrace, which affected her deeply. Could he have forgotten what it was like to be touched by his wife; to partake in any small exchange of intimacy?

Narcissa detested what she could sense underneath the man's robes as she embraced him too. He had become appallingly thin. She had borne witness to the physical horrors that Azkaban had unleashed during Lucius's first night home from the prison breakout, when she had attempted to remove his shabby garments for him—so unkempt and unclean—and was forced to take in his bruised, haggard flesh. His ribs and hips protruded in a manner that shouldn't have been visible to the naked eye.

Judging by Lucius's lack of warmth and emotion upon re-entering his house, he showed no intentions of ridding himself of his dirty prison clothes. He didn't utter a word as Narcissa proceeded to help him into a bath and washed him from head to toe, wanting to welcome him home as the caring, attentive wife that she was. He was unresponsive to her countless caresses up and down every inch of his exposed skin, to her brushing out his hair in the manner that used to make him moan with pleasure, to all of her attentive, delicate kisses and loving embraces...

Eventually, after placing him in his favourite silk pyjamas and trying to stimulate his cock to erect, Lucius patted his troubled wife's head, scanned the mounting strains that lined her face with remorse, and laid down on the hardwood floors to sleep, unaroused and depleted. It had been startling enough that Lucius hadn't responded to her stimulation, but curling up in a foetal position on their bedroom floor had been what, at last, prompted Narcissa to break down, albeit quietly. She managed to convince him to crawl into bed beside her, but Lucius continued acting uncertain for a time if that was where he belonged or where he was at all permitted to be. He wouldn't touch her; he wouldn't let her close.

Today, Lucius had spent much of the day staring out the window into their once lavish garden, hands locked behind his back and as silent as ever. Most of their treasured rose bushes had been blasted to ash by their 'friends', purely for game and to mock their imprisoned hosts. It was an emotional power play, one that the Dark Lord was all too gleeful to oversee, and the Malfoys were forced to utter nothing as the madman and his goons went about collectively destroying their home. Lucius hadn't said a word about the devastating state of the estate since his return and that, too, was tragic to her.

"What is it?" Narcissa chanced asking him after another lapse in silence, almost bursting into tears when she felt his warm, rough hands reach up to cover hers. It was the first time she had been recognised and touched by him in over a year.

"Why do you stay?" he quietly asked.

Narcissa angled her head to try to better scrutinise Lucius's profile. "Where would I go?" she challenged, to which he carried on listlessly staring out the window instead of at her.

"You could go anywhere...to anyone..."

"Do you wish that I had?"

A considerable pause followed, one that greatly unnerved her. "Not even while I was away?" he eventually suggested.

Narcissa clenched. "What is this?" She drew back, feeling her face grow hot and bothered. "What are you asking me, Lucius?"

At last, he turned to look at her, his steel grey irises still hollow and withdrawn. Narcissa leaned farther back from him, pained at staring into the eyes of someone she no longer recognised. Only her glossy reflection gazed back at her.

"I've been unfaithful to you, Cissy," he started to explain, pieces of hair falling into his face. "Unfair. Unkind. I've ruined our family. It's a wonder our son is still alive." A befuddled line formed between his eyebrows. "Why don't you hate me?"

"Don't, Lucius." She pressed a soft hand to his cheek. "Hate is unnecessary. I have no reason to hate you."

"That's absurd," he scoffed and, to her dismay, recoiled from her affection. "I've withheld secrets from you, Cissy; I've lied to you and to Draco and destroyed this family beyond repair; I've committed sins within our marriage and crimes outside of it—"

"Lucius," Narcissa pleaded.

"And still, _you won't leave_."

Narcissa, too, stepped away, hesitant to press their conversation. "Would..." she started and stopped herself, finding it difficult to speak. "Would you _like_ me to?"

Lucius stared at his wife for an excruciatingly long time. Then he shook his head and turned his back on her once more, towards the fogged, large glass window. "I don't know," he confessed, with a heavy sigh.

Narcissa stared on, still and uncertain whether to be relieved or hurt. Nothing made sense anymore, least of all her own feelings.

* * *

 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes : **Thank you to you lovelies who reviewed the last chapter. They're so encouraging to this whole process. Here's Chapter 5. Two chapters left...

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

" _Beware what you consume, lest your appetite grow by what it feeds on."_

—Candace Bushnell

* * *

 **March 1982**

Narcissa lovingly brushed her hand along Lucius's glossy right cheek. His lips formed a smile in sleep, his eyelids fluttering as he dreamt deeply. Narcissa continued gliding her fingertips over the well-attuned ridges of her husband's face, listening as he purred every so often with contentment.

He was safe. He was at home and not about to be packed off to Azkaban prison. Their lie, alongside Severus Snape's testimony, before the Wizengamot had been convincing in the end, and he now had repossession of his wand _and_ his life. Their lives would carry on as before; before Lord Voldemort had emerged to power and govern their every move and threatened all that the Malfoys held dear.

To Narcissa, there was enormous, indisputable relief in knowing that she and Draco wouldn't be alone for the foreseeable future. She still had Lucius by her side, and he would take care of them as he had promised to do ever since proposing marriage on that romantic, unforgettable evening by his parents' rose bushes—now theirs—several years ago.

There was far less consolation in the debased, secret arrangement she had made with Lucius's two-faced 'friend', Severus Snape. Since the beginning of their private meetings over the past month, Narcissa had struggled to come to terms with not only having betrayed her husband by going to an outsider for help but also with having spoiled the sanctity of their marriage by consenting to another wizard's gross sexual demands.

Lucius had already strayed in their marriage three years ago, though she had never confronted him about the 'other' witches he had bedded; but in her heart Narcissa firmly believed that Lucius loved and cherished _her_ above all others whom he had taken in the past. His sexual libido had been high and too demanding to meet at times, particularly when she was pregnant with Draco, and, though Lucius's subsequent affairs wounded Narcissa to her core, she had rationalised them as nothing more than sex. She didn't feel threatened by the 'others', as she preferred to reference them, who bore no reputable standings of which to speak on, nor did she sense that her husband's affections towards her had strained. Thus, she let the affairs go...as much as her heart would allow. She excused Lucius's behaviour because she hadn't had the sexual drive or the energy for his appetite at the time. Her first and foremost responsibility was to bear him a son, and a healthy one at that. Surely, it was to be expected that if his wife couldn't satisfy him in the bedroom when he wished it, he would seek that pleasure elsewhere. At the end of the day, it kept Lucius happy and kept him committed to her; or so Narcissa convinced herself.

Thankfully, he was no longer engaging in affairs, since Narcissa's body had reverted to its former springy, active self. There was no need to bed someone else when his wife could meet his standards once more. Gifting him with a son too had secured his loyalty to her in a manner that even surprised Narcissa; she was secretly grateful for that.

It didn't excuse, for her, the dishonour that she, herself, was engaging in sex outside of their marriage now, and the reality nauseated Narcissa daily. This wasn't tit for tat; she wasn't trying to get back at Lucius; she didn't _want_ to see him hurt or cause him emotional pain. If he ever uncovered the truth...

 _He won't be able to look at me...much like I can't look at myself._

On the brink of sudden tears, Narcissa rolled onto her opposite side and felt Lucius unconsciously curl his sturdy arms tighter around her waist. Her body stilled in his embrace, though the cursed images of her with a much lankier fellow, their naked, sweaty bodies pressed against each other, began playing on repeat in her mind: him groping her breasts and leaving greedy bite marks on her long neck; her persistent moans as his tongue faithfully followed her every squirm, successfully propel her to come; that same tongue delving inside of her mouth as though he might consume her demented, tortured soul...

 _I hate you, Severus._

Why did the words not seem to stick?

* * *

 **June 1991**

Lucius, having gloated over his son's Hogwarts letter for much of the evening (and much to the boy's smug satisfaction), ceased raving for a brief pause to rove over the prized letter in his hand yet again. Narcissa smiled from just out of arm's reach of the pair of them, observing her husband and son beaming with pride back and forth at each other and the school letter which had, at last, arrived the day prior.

Narcissa was delighted for Draco, to be sure, but the probing, sharp pang taking form in the centre of her chest was like the twisting of a knife straight through her poor, broken heart. It wouldn't be long before her son would no longer have need of her, and that detrimental fact was more terrifying than she imagined. Besides continuing to provide a temporary roof over the boy's head and barking orders at the house-elves to see to whatever demands Draco had, Narcissa was about to become utterly useless for the first time since the start of her marriage. She would still be a doting wife and mother, of course, but she had poured all of her time and energy into the blond-haired, blue-eyed specimen who was now confidently embarking on wizarding school and leaving her in the dust.

It was a frightening premonition of what was surely to follow: there could be no more avoiding the cracks in her marriage; no more opportunities to avoid each other's pain and vices by intervening on their son's behalf as an unhealthy distraction from themselves.

Draco treading off to Hogwarts had been plaguing Narcissa for far longer than the day his letter had turned up, and now that it was in their possession, time seemed to suddenly be rushing towards the horrid inevitable. She had been nursing her wounds this evening through an expensive bottle of wine, one only suitable for such an occasion. Lucius had invited a group of close friends to join them and had been acting much more at ease with Draco's departure than Narcissa; or, at least, he was playing the part far more convincingly than her.

"Ah, Severus, you _must_ ensure that our son is well looked after! Nothing compares to the stellar life he's had here with Cissy and I, naturally, but we expect the best for him when he's at school. You won't drop the Quaffle on us, I trust?"

"I'm certain that that can be arranged," Severus muttered into his goblet, his sarcasm overlooked by the majority in the room. He took a weak sip of the wine which had been offered.

A stuffy-looking wizard, with overly large ears and a bald patch and seated to Severus's right (one of many Ministry connections of whom Lucius boasted association nowadays, though Severus considered them to be of no particular notoriety), raised his goblet to their hosts and blabbered a toast Narcissa didn't pay attention to. She wasn't the only one. She caught Severus's lack of propriety in not raising his goblet to honour her family and unintentionally lowered hers. His mouth was clamped shut, his goblet hovering against the rim of his lips, whilst his dark eyes scrutinised the absurdity happening around them. She could practically hear his derisive inner monologue, a rarity in her experiences with the quiet, unforthcoming man: _'People attend Hogwarts every soddin' year. What makes these idiots think the Malfoy prat is so special?'_

Narcissa tried to ignore the embarrassment that brightened her cheeks. She made a habit of trying to pay no heed to Severus's interworkings when he was in her presence alongside her husband and son, retreating as far inward as she possibly could to protect herself. She tried to prevent the shiver that tingled her spine when his eyes anchored themselves to her in the middle of her guest's speech, like some starved stray dog in want of nourishment.

A peculiar, twisted incitement pulled his lips into a crooked smile. Narcissa wished she could forge herself to the wall at her back, but there was nothing to be done. She wouldn't escape his provocation. It would come sooner or later.

Later that evening, and as she suspected, Severus made his move. In a darkened corridor off of the top of the staircase, he shoved Narcissa behind a curtain and snagged her waistline, growling possessively. She was prepared to receive him, however, for she had retreated to this specific spot to draw him in, ensuring that her husband and their guests were well-fed and preoccupied before she had excused herself. Severus had exited the room ahead of her, apparently to use the loo, and caught her fetching figure slinking coyly up the stairs. It was a matter of convenience, really; or so the convoluted partners persuaded themselves as Narcissa cast a silencing charm around them.

"This is foolish!" he hissed into her ear. His reprimand was more to himself over another sin they were about to commit rather than directed at the object of his desires.

Narcissa, who had heard it all before, wilfully ignored his warning. It hadn't stopped them from ending up in the most compromising and perilous of positions before, whether a Dark Lord was walking amongst them or not, so she didn't hesitate to unbutton the front of her robes and offer him the tantalising view of a creamy white breast.

Severus's cock stiffened in his pants. Narcissa felt its rise through the man's trousers, which brushed tantalisingly against her warm inner thigh.

"Oh!" she moaned as he proceeded to suck and circle her exposed nipple, using taunting tongue flicks that made her quim seize.

After more tongue swishing and forceful grabbing, Narcissa released a frustrated growl. She despised the powerlessness that wanted to claim her under these circumstances and fought against the urge to succumb by vigorously cupping Severus's face. She dragged him up to press their lips together, hard. He moaned into her mouth, evidently taken aback but turned on by her aggression, and that invigorated her enthusiasm.

As one, they readily deepened the kiss, as though neither could quite quench their thirst. Then Narcissa released Severus's lower lip with a swift but somewhat painful yank and, without pause, dropped to her knees to take him into her mouth. In haste, she unbuttoned his trousers, allowing his cock to hang freely, its curve and shape different from Lucius's: pink, veiny, and ready to receive her.

She licked her lips and took all of him, the act slow and purposeful. She knew it wouldn't take long for the normally steely wizard to beg for more, and her aim was to have him relinquish control; to be entirely at _her_ mercy. She wanted him to come undone inside of her but at _her_ command rather than his own. Even if it was a mere illusion of holding all of the better cards, Narcissa would exercise patience and, through will and determination, achieve her desires.

" _Yes_ ," Severus groaned between gritted teeth, tossing her silver hair clasp loose and fisting his fingers through her tumbling, long locks. "'Cissa...!" Her mouth clamped around his length and he snarled down at her; at her brazen stamina in not shattering at his glare, openly defying and watching with enjoyment on her face as his own contorted against his will. "You know you want it," he spat, trying to reverse the power struggle and breathing heavily. "Suck my cock, you dirty little cunt. You like it when I call you my whore, don't you?"

Undeterred, and without breaking eye contact, Narcissa compressed his balls, gripping them a little too forcefully for his—or any man's—liking. An aroused but startled growl like none previously erupted from the wizard towering above her, rising from the depths of his throat. Narcissa shuddered. The corners of Severus's mouth curled into an amused smile, and she mirrored that response. She drove her wet tongue across his tip, breathing hot on his pecker and sensing his inability to hold back a reactive shiver.

Narcissa whispered, with enticing conviction, "I may be your whore, but you are _my_ play toy to do with as I please. And right now I have you in the palm of my hand. Behave yourself," she cautioned.

Severus raised a kindled eyebrow. He eased his clutch on the top of her head and, to her rather stricken surprise, stroked the right side of her face. The move was startlingly gentle, appreciative even. His shaded eyes pondered her, vigilant, impairing Narcissa in their rawness and intimacy. She held her breath, paralysed.

"As you were," he pressed following the short but powerful pause, correcting himself when her gaze sharpened. " _Wish_."

Approving of that amendment, Narcissa hungrily took him into her mouth again and began sucking with reckless abandon, one avid hand delicately fondling his balls at the same time. She stroked and tickled and savoured the atypical noises that emitted from him at her leniency. The more he repeated her name,—"'Cissa!" (which she had come to regard in recent years as his subtle form of endearment)—gasping and groaning and jutting his hips against her lips, the wetter Narcissa's knickers became, until she could no longer steadily grope him but needed to relieve herself as well.

" _Not yet_ ," she pulled back and commanded when his body gave a sudden quiver.

Severus cursed her through several throaty, discernible growls. He punched the wall to try to ward off his climax, but the alluring visual of the composed blonde sucking him off and rubbing her clit at his feet was terribly distracting. The heat from her mouth encasing him too was nearing euphoria, the urge proving impossible not to succumb to.

" _I...can't..._!" he sputtered and clenched his buttocks.

Speedily slipping his cock out of her mouth, Narcissa smiled against his tip. She had him now; the power was entirely hers. "You're permitted," she finally declared.

With that, Severus let go. His head rolled back and an explosive cry escaped him as he came. His hips slammed into Narcissa's lips, his cum shooting down the back of her throat, which Narcissa swallowed with impressive ease.

Peering up at the evolved, disarrayed result of her calculated efforts, Narcissa purred, feeling triumphant. "Good man," she cooed and, with difficulty, rose from the floor. She tried to disregard the almost painful need to come herself, for she still required a few more precious minutes of stimulation.

Severus's gangly, relaxed form, still freshly pulsating from his moment of bliss, crashed into their ugly reality as his eyes came back into focus. The grimness that he and Narcissa were hiding behind a ruddy curtain, his trousers around his knees and his cock hanging limp and exposed, whilst her lips were swollen and her clothes were a tangled mess, set his teeth on edge. He had allowed the matriarch of this house to play him, and yet, the thrill of receiving unsavoury treatment within the confines of another man's home was dangerously intoxicating. It shouldn't have been this way.

 _You should never have allowed it to go this far._ How often over the years had his irritating conscience reminded him of that? _Or that you should have stopped this long ago?_

Realising that Naricssa had yet to climax, Severus refastened his trousers and reached out a committed hand to lift her robes. She thrust his hand back to his side but held onto his wrist, at the same time pressing a finger to her mouth with the other.

"Cissy! Cissy!"

Panic replaced lust on their faces. "We've been gone too long," Narcissa hissed. She made a quick flick of her wand to readjust her garments and her hair.

Severus frowned, unappeased. "But—"

"I must go!" she insisted and withdrew from the shadows before he could snatch her.

 _At least one of us has our head on straight_ , he mused, watching Narcissa's hasty descend on the staircase. She had shoved the intricate hair clip that he had discarded back into place before making her presence known to her husband, who was evidently calling to her from the bottom of the stairs. She slowed her stride halfway down, her demeanour strikingly calm and collected from seconds before. Severus couldn't make out much of his friend's face, but Lucius didn't appear to be smiling in the fashion he usually conveyed when receiving his fetching wife.

"Where have you been?" he questioned in a soft-spoken voice. It wasn't feeble but heedful to Severus's ears. The caution he witnessed in Narcissa's step now made sense.

"I was...in the wine cellar looking for more of that Elven Mouton Rothschild. I couldn't find any, and then I thought we might have left some in the bedroom last night. It appears we drank the last of it though."

Lucius's reticent expression didn't change. "I could have told you that, my dear," he stated plainly. "There was no need to go browsing." He waited for her to reach his side, extended a hand for her to accept, and inquired offhandedly, "Where's Severus?"

"I...am not sure, love?"

Lucius's eyes scanned the enormous space around them. "You don't suppose he got lost on his way to the loo?"

"Perhaps he did," Narcissa giggled. She leaned in to press a reassuring kiss to Lucius's cheek.

Severus recognised the falsity in her laughter, but did her husband perceive it as well? The man's frown disconcerted him, especially since Narcissa had bestowed him with affection. Severus recoiled further into the shadows, hoping Lucius couldn't detect himself being watched from the top of the stairs. Like him, Lucius was a naturally suspicious and sharp-minded wizard, highly perceptive and equally threatening to double-cross. It was difficult to tell from a distance whether Lucius was convinced by his wife's comment or not.

"Your face is all blotchy," Lucius remarked. His hand reached up to inspect her, unseen to Severus from his angle.

"Climbing up and down stairs has left me a bit breathless, I'm afraid," said Narcissa. She grabbed his hand from the air. "Come, love, our guests are waiting. I'm sure Severus is fine and will be along shortly."

She started to lead Lucius back to the room where their party was in full swing, but the dour blond didn't budge—at first. His squinting eyes trailed around the expansive entrance hall one last time. Then, at further gentle prodding from Narcissa, he consented and disappeared behind a closed door.

Severus emerged from behind the wall. He had felt the knot clenching his stomach many a time before and allowed it to pass before he stepped onto the staircase.

 _You're playing with fire, Severus. How long before you get burnt...and 'Cissa too?_

* * *

 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes :** Ah, well. One more chapter left.

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

" _Every nerve that can thrill with pleasure, can also agonize with pain."_

—Horace Mann

* * *

 **October 31, 1988**

Narcissa's lidded eyes flowed from the well-acquainted sparkling diamond that coveted the fourth finger on her left hand to the brooding dark figure stationed, stagnant, across the room. She made a slight raise of her head, her observance steadfastly quiet. Much of her presence this evening had been accompanied by silence, mostly his.

Severus's forehead leaned against the window pane of his study, each even breath fogging up the glass, though this didn't deter him from his committed, empty stare. The scenery beyond his window was a gloomy sight: grey, heavy showers, a garden laid to rest by October's fatal kiss, and the ghoulish contours of a broken man, with an overgrown nose and dull eyes, reflecting back through the glass.

Narcissa's eyes plodded to a visible side pocket on Severus's trousers. His hand was shoved deep inside it, twisting something around and around, unseen; but the witch knew and her stomach churned. She turned her attentions towards the various assortments of books that lined the walls. She was certain that if Severus Snape wanted to adorn his entire house with tomes, he would do so. Perhaps that was one of his works in progress for the rundown house he had inherited; she wasn't privy to his plans.

"Severus?" she addressed him first. His untiring stare out the window sustained, however. She sighed and steadily rose from the chesterfield sofa upon which she had been stretched for some time. "Shall I go?" she proposed quietly.

There was an uneasy pause before he answered, wearing a still vacant expression, "Do as you wish."

Narcissa let slip a frustrated sigh. "Why did you invite me this evening?" They hadn't shagged or so much as brushed hands, which was unusual for them. Normally, he couldn't keep his greedy hands off of her, so Narcissa couldn't account for why else Severus would summon her to Spinner's End.

"I requested your presence," he emended her remark, not moving from his hunched stance against the window. "Do I require a reason?"

"Pardon me. _Request_ ," she amended, giving a vexed roll of her eyes. She waited, again, and when Severus offered forth no other explanation, she decided to push her luck. "Severus, if you don't wish to be alone, _just say it_."

She was stunted when Severus winced and snapped his head about, scrutinising her through a newly spiteful, livened set of eyes. His glare pained her and she took a step backward. Her gaze gauged what she knew to be stowed in the wizard's pocket.

"What made her so special?" she nearly growled, her tense whisper matching the atmosphere.

His lips formed a severe line. "It's none of your—"

"Concern, I know, but..." She studied him, as she so often did, without ill intent, only to better understand the complicated bastard whom she had become more and more drawn to with every baffling encounter. "Did she fancy you?" He didn't answer that. She found her own pain suddenly mirrored by the cryptic man's expression, in his persecuted silence. "I see..."

There was another pregnant pause. Severus intensified their unspoken understanding by cutting her down. "That's something you'd know nothing about."

"You'd know very little about other people's feelings, I'd wager." Narcissa kept her cool but shook her head, disheartened. "Anyway, you're wrong."

Shielded black irises flickered at her. Then they resumed staring out the window. Narcissa could read their morbid thought through the reflected glass, however: ' _There aren't enough sorrys in the world for how I feel.'_

Uncomfortable, and not knowing what else to say, Narcissa's gaze swept over the hidden lock of fiery red hair that was safeguarded inside Severus's pocket and left.

* * *

 **September 1995**

Narcissa melted into her pillow, as Lucius's tempting fingers ghosted over the curve of her back, leaving pleasant spine pricklings on her naked flesh, which only made her crave more of his touch. Her husband, relaxed and lying next to her, with one bare leg snug in between hers, grinned a Cheshire cat-like smile.

At his wife's quiet solicitation, he continued his gentle back strokes, revelling in how Narcissa's blue eyes magnified in their yearning for him as the moon rose higher in the sky overhead, in view just outside of their bedroom window.

"Are you happy, my darling?" he asked, inching forward to peck the tip of her dainty nose.

"Of course, love," Narcissa purred in return. She rested a hand on Lucius's lightly furred chest and gazed deeper into his eyes. "Are you, I trust?"

"Yes." He released a contented sigh that was quickly disarmed by the shadows. "And I'm in good standing with his Lordship. We'll be all right."

Narcissa's open complacency faltered before his eyes. "I fear..." she started and stopped herself, the words catching on the tip of her tongue.

Lucius leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Don't be afraid."

Narcissa scooted into his embrace beneath the covers. "You remember last time...how he..."

"He's changed, Cissy. He's not as strong as he was before."

Despite such reassurances, Narcissa's shoulders tensed in Lucius's arms. "He's likely to become far worse."

"You may be right." Lucius's hand stretched across his wife's back and pulled her closer. "But you and I are stronger together than we've ever been, aren't we?" His ears alerted to Narcissa's prolonged silence, which perplexed him. He peered down at her, concerned. "What is it, darling?" Considering where her mind may have drifted, he rambled off a series of apologies; she had received them many times before. "I'm sorry for having wronged you. If I could take it back—"

"No, no. You're forgiven, Lucius. Please..."

"Then what's wrong, Cissy?"

"I... I just..." She was struggling to look him in the eye. She wanted to tell him the truth: about Severus; about their arrangement, which had begun out of obligation over a decade ago and had advanced into something far deeper and convoluted since, despite hers and his countless attempts to put an end to it; to express her love and devotion to _both_ of them and how awfully sorry she was for being too cowardly to choose. "I'm scared," was what eventually escaped Narcissa's trembling lips.

That wasn't necessarily a lie. She _was_ frightened—for her family's future, for her secret lover, for the Dark Lord's return and how that might spell doom for them all—and her words encompassed a lot more than what Lucius seemingly comprehended of them.

"I am too," he softly confessed, cupping her by the chin, "but I'm here to protect you. And Draco. Try not to worry yourself, my dear. Worrying is a useless activity, and you're far too beautiful to wear something so beneath you."

Narcissa smiled, though weakly, and allowed him to push her anxieties away by way of several more generous kisses across her cheeks, nose, and mouth. She let herself be dragged over top of him, willingly drowned herself in all of his affections, and, together, they made love, their bodies veiled beneath blue moonlight.

* * *

 **June 1994**

"Why are you telling me this?"

Narcissa shook where she stood, wrestling to catch her breath. "I thought... I thought you'd want to know."

Severus scowled, his expression as black and cold as what was long thought to be his heart. "You didn't have to tell me this."

" _Don't you dare_!" Narcissa shouted. She stopped herself in what was a useless attempt to compose her outburst. Despair shrouded her, pressing down on her chest like the coming of Death. She might have welcomed Him at that moment. "You're cruel," she, instead, expressed in a much softer, injured tone that he didn't imitate.

"Why is this a shock to you?" His counter was defensive, exacerbated, tired. "To my recollection, I've never presented myself to you as anything other than the bastard that I am, 'Cissa."

"Don't act like you wear it like some badge of honour because you don't!" Shakenly insistent, Narcissa hugged herself tighter across the chest. She could feel destructibility spiralling her towards a pit of endless tribulation, like salt seeping through her lover's soul-crushing fingers. "You hate yourself! And you hate yourself more for how you treat me, so stop it, would you? Quit hurting me!"

"You create your own pain." Severus's voice had lowered to an antagonising whisper, his dark eyes burning with indignation. She pined for a twinge of regret, for a glimmer of his love. "And you told me this with the aim of wounding me."

"No! I didn't—"

"That I would be cut down to lose a child that I never wanted," he hissed over her beseeching, his words cutting the air like an Unforgivable Curse. His upper lip lifted into a snarl. "You're more of a helpless twit than I thought."

" _Maybe I am_!" Narcissa wailed. Devastated and defeated, she slumped to the floor, disintegrating into a series of anguished sobs. "I'm an utter fool to have thought you capable of possessing a heart! Your love for the Potter wench was always a front—"

Severus threw up a threatening finger. "Don't call her that!"

"—and I should've known it! You're bloody heartless, you are! _You fucking coward_!"

Severus's scowl increased tenfold. His arm hovered in the air, unmoving, and, though there were no more vindictive words to exchange, Narcissa could sense his enmity radiating off of him like an electric current.

Cradling herself into a protective ball, Narcissa succumbed to the inexplicable pain that she found too overpowering to fight and rocked back and forth on her knees, permitting herself to weep freely, whether such heartbreak discomforted him to witness or not. She tore at her face and cried as she had never cried before; not even as when she had lost the baby recently at three months of age.

She had taken every necessary precaution in that first trimester, issuing wizarding spell after wizarding spell and in-taking potion after potion that the healer prescribed, but from the start her pregnancy had been plagued by difficulties, not the least of which had been its haunting secrecy. Finding herself impregnated by someone other than her husband had been traumatic, utterly terrifying, and yet, the most joyous Narcissa had felt in years. She would be _something_ again; she could pour all of her love into such a beautiful little recreation. She hadn't anticipated the father of that child taking the news well, but she had also not anticipated losing the baby prior to getting to inform Severus of what she considered to be incredible news, nor that he would react with such callousness.

"You fucking coward," she repeated again and again, each utterance fainter but no less heartsick.

After what felt like an age, Severus pushed his agile legs into action. He whirled around, with the intention of exiting Narcissa's bedroom, when her next words froze him in his tracks.

"I wanted to name her Eileen...after your mother," she breathed, her voice wrought with sorrow. "I thought you would have liked that..."

Slowly, Severus turned his head to her, the expression marking his profile regrettably no more heightened or emotional. Something was turning behind the eyes though; something Narcissa couldn't quite identify. "It was a girl?" he inquired, his register hushed, after a painstaking silence.

Narcissa barely managed to choke out a "Yes..."

Severus's cravat bobbed up and down, his head whipped forward, and he twisted the doorknob, murmuring to the weeping witch, as though he was tongue-tied and having difficulty speaking, "It's just as well. A baby would have ruined us, 'Cissa; it would have devastated Lucius too. You know that. Perhaps, in time, you'll come to see it as a blessing rather than a loss."

Narcissa's watery eyes narrowed. "Will _you_ , Severus?" she whimpered, extending her arm out to him, knowing he was too far away to be reached. "Will you? Our baby... _Our baby_..."

Severus quietly left the room without answering her. Narcissa dissolved into a flood of tears once more, eventually exhausting herself by nightfall.

* * *

 **May 2, 1998**

Lucius Apparated to where he knew Severus to be hiding, awaiting the Dark Lord's call in the Forbidden Forest. He hadn't ventured too far from the battle, and it was imperative that he not be seen. The forest was eerily quiet, though the buzz and electricity coming from Hogwarts' direction not far off could faintly be heard. It was the heavy midst of the battle, curses and hexes seen for miles and illuminating the night sky like fireworks. They charged the curiously sombre ambiance of the forest and could be felt from every direction, even causing the ground to rumble beneath their feet.

"He's asked for you," Lucius stated simply, ignoring the individual cries he could hear in the distance. He prayed that none of them belonged to Draco or his wife.

His old friend, without conveying any sense of being daunted by such a message, stepped forward from behind some brush and into a circular clearing where Lucius stood. From what Lucius could perceive between the shadows, Severus was whiter than he had ever looked in his life. His cheekbones were entirely hollowed out and gaunt, the circles beneath his eyelids as hefty and dark as the man's pupils. He had always been a very thin man, but his clothes now hung on him as though he was a walking skeleton rather than made of human flesh.

It wasn't surprising, really. Nearly all of the Death Eaters had become shells of their former selves. Lord Voldemort had beaten them all into such submission and subordination that most no longer resembled their former person, Lucius included. He could barely keep himself together these days, having all but given up on maintaining a well-kept outward impression to his enemies. Even his dear Cissy was showing visible wear of what it meant to be at the Dark Lord's mercy. It was painful to witness such weaknesses in each other and in themselves but it was no longer a shock to their systems.

"I will go to him," Severus replied, monotone and matter-of-factly.

"Severus," Lucius suddenly spoke up, half reaching a hand towards the wizard whom he had known since Severus was a scrawny eleven-year old nothing from a muggle town called Cokeworth. How vastly had he changed. His friend turned his head and eyed him curiously. "Be forewarned: he's... He's quite angry."

"About the Elder Wand?"

Lucius blinked, caught off his guard by Severus's razor-sharp perception. "Yes..."

Severus nodded, though he said nothing in reply, and started to step back to Disapparate. Lucius reached for him a second time, his extension only able to grasp thin air. He desperately needed an answer and, for whatever reason he couldn't constitute, something was frantically tapping at the back of his mind. It felt like a most earnest premonition; a heavy-handed suggestion that this encounter with Severus might be their last opportunity to converse.

"Severus, there's something that I... Something I _must_ know before you go to him. Please, spare me but a moment more?"

"Then you'd best hurry, Lucius. We both know the Dark Lord doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Lucius sucked in a breath. It was suddenly harder to ask the burning question that had been raging on his mind than he thought possible. In fact, for a long time, he had anticipated this very moment playing out quite differently. His hands, for instance, should have been around Severus's neck by now. His wand should have been drawn too, perhaps an Unforgivable Curse cast that might render Severus useless. Yet, miraculously, he couldn't bring himself to draw his wand or use his hands on the man before him now. Not yet.

"Do you love her?" he blurted out, watching as Severus stared on at him in silence, his chest no longer steadily rising and falling. Lucius fought the sudden heatwave that warmed his face, unrelated to the rather cool May morn, and uttered her name, " _Narcissa_."

It was a name that carried a different meaning to each of them, and it seemed to take Severus an age before he responded. "How long have you known?" he whispered, in turn.

Lucius shot Severus a measured look over. "What does that matter?"

Severus's expression drew away from their secluded spot, even from the task that lay ahead of him, for the briefest but poignant of moments. "I suppose you're right...it doesn't," he eventually agreed with a sigh, sounding resigned to the truth.

Lucius waited for Severus's gaze to come back to him before he proposed, again, his voice riddled with heightened emotion, "Do you love her?"

"In a way."

"What the bloody hell does _that_ mean?"

"It's complicated, Luc—"

" _BOLLOCKS_!" he barked and stomped the ground with his foot. "It's a simple answer, you bleedin' sod! _Are you in love with my wife_?"

Severus pondered Lucius's hazardous question a great deal, to the extent that the blond wizard reconsidered seizing him by the throat and shaking him until he passed out; or worse. He obviously hadn't thought it over before; or, perhaps, he had long avoided the subject. Severus Snape wasn't a Death Eater known to possess feelings, after all, though Lucius knew damn well that the man contained them as much as the rest of them.

Severus's voice grew unsteady in a manner that Lucius had never detected before, like a whimpering dog after its wounds were pealed back to reveal worsening damage beneath the surface, when he replied softly, "I suppose...yes. She's never heard it from me...nor will she ever after this night. I've _never_ sought to make her love me back, Lucius—"

"Well, you failed miserably, my _friend_ ," Lucius interrupted, issuing an unbecoming sneer, "though I sure as hell wish you'd have succeeded! It would have made this a lot easier for me to handle!"

Severus angled his head. He looked defeated and that too swelled Lucius's anger; he didn't know why. "What?"

"She loves us _both_ , you damned fool!" Lucius wrung his hands in the air.

"But she's yours."

" _That didn't stop you, did it_?" The tingling in Lucius's fingers goaded him to reach for his wand, but he repelled the strong compulsion. Why wouldn't he strike? Hadn't he spent much of the past couple of years detesting this man?

Choosing to remain calm and detached, Severus patiently pointed out, "You knew the Dark Lord was going to make me choose sooner or later. That wasn't a secret to anyone."

Lucius huffed. "That doesn't get you off the hook!"

"No, it doesn't, but I never sought to make her mine, Lucius. You _must_ know that."

"Well, you didn't succeed! She no longer belongs to me and to me alone, Severus, so you'd better make good on something for me!"

Severus's stance, already rigid, solidified, as though his limbs had become a part of the forest's genetic makeup. "And what is that?" he growled irritably, his lips the only movement made.

Lucius's return stare maintained its stubborn defiance. He pointed a trembling finger at him. "You need to bloody well stay alive, you hear? You need to make up for all the hell that you've put my Cissy through when this is all over! _That_ , you must do!"

Severus remarked, his stone-cold expression unflinching, "You know I can't keep that promise."

"I need you to fucking well _try_ , you bastard! You owe me that much, _friend_ ," Lucius mocked, giving an unfurling of his pearly-white teeth.

"What, my life?"

Lucius was startled by the derisive snort Severus expressed. It jolted around them like a sinister, foreboding echo. Enraged, he narrowed his eyes. " _Yes_ , Severus," he snarled. "As valueless as you and I may find your life to be, it means something to Narcissa, so you must keep yourself intact, as much as you're able, for _her_ bloody sake!"

The two men glared at each other for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time. Severus finally made the first move. He retreated farther into the shadows and turned his back, sweeping, black robes billowing at his feet.

"Severus," Lucius called out to him one last time; Severus hesitated in his tracks but refused to meet his eyes, "I wish to say one thing more: that I am...grateful," he struggled to convey, "that your answer was yes. If you'd said no, you would have left me little choice."

"What, but to kill me?" Severus all but laughed. The eyes that suddenly spun towards and shimmered in Lucius's direction sent chills down Lucius's spine.

"You're the Dark Lord's most prized supporter. You think me that dunce?" Lucius chuckled after recovering from his start. He shook his head, his face suddenly gripped by melancholy. "No, not you, _her_..." He paused, allowing his words to sink in and take their place. "After all, what husband wants to compete over his wife's unrequited love for someone else? What man wants to live forever with his woman's broken, irreparable heart?"

In that moment, Lucius found Severus's reaction too hazy to decode. Between heavy darkness and guarded thoughts, Severus maintained his silence, much as he always had, though he bowed to Lucius before he left. The last visual Lucius had of the wizard was swirling dark robes Disapparating to the Dark Lord's side, followed by an all-too-fleeting _pop_ that reverberated in the forest.

* * *

 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes : **Last chapter. Thank you to those who have been commenting and following along. I'd really appreciate your final thoughts.

 **Disclaimer :** _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

" _Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle._

 _Everything I do is stitched with its colour."_

—W.S. Merwin

* * *

 **May 3, 1998**

Lucius made the slow, agonising progression towards his family sitting room. The accompanying silence that followed him down the once decorative hallway of his stately home, now vacant and destroyed by a vanquished Lord Voldemort, overpowered his echoing footsteps. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of emotions, ricocheting to and fro like miscast jinxes unable to hit their targets. Hot tears prickled his eyes as he reached out a trembling hand to grasp the doorknob, knowing whom he would encounter on the opposite side of that door...and whose heart he was about to shatter.

The arresting silhouette of a quiet Narcissa greeted him upon entering. Her hip-hugging robes were grimy and ruined from the battle,—she, Lucius, and their son hadn't yet found the will to change their clothing—and yet, her posture wouldn't have indicated that the strong-willed witch was at all recently ruffled by war. Her blonde locks too were tousled, strands falling loose from her ornate bun, but, to him, she was still radiant to behold.

As Lucius noiselessly shut the door behind him, his wife turned, as if in slow motion, and greeted him. Her haunting eyes acknowledged his presence, gentle, yet understated. Her cheeks contained a few minor cuts from the battle but she remained as stunning to Lucius as the day they first met, if not made more divine by the aurora of her strength.

"I put Draco to bed," she murmured, sounding quite exhausted, her arms drawn protectively across her chest. "I instructed the elf to give him some Dreamless Sleep to help him rest."

"Good." Lucius visibly hesitated to approach. His watery eyes were suddenly noted by Narcissa, whose gaze, at once, sharpened.

"What is it, Lucius?" she inquired, half dreading whatever information he might bring.

Lucius seemed to need another moment to collect himself before he forced himself to cross the room and join her. "I...have news," he began in a slow drawl.

Narcissa gathered his hands in hers. "Good news, I hope?" She stared up at him beseechingly, though her heartbeat had quickened. It wasn't like the old Lucius to hold back his emotions in front of her when they were alone.

"I... I'm afraid not, Cissy." He paused, inhaled an unsteady breath, and released it with a lamented sigh. "Severus is dead."

Narcissa continued to stare at him, at first unreactive and unblinking to this turn of events. The entire world seemed to have gone silent and still in her ears, however; the earth beneath her feet ceasing to rotate. It took her considerable time to find her voice, though her quivering tone didn't appear to grasp Lucius's heart-stopping announcement. " _Wha - What_?" she stammered and jerked back, her chest rising and falling more rapidly.

"The Dark Lord," Lucius tried to explain, with calmness, his hands clutching his wife's tighter. "He was dissatisfied...about the Elder Wand. He blamed Severus."

" _Where is he_?" she demanded. Her eyes, widened and jolted beyond what mere words could convey of her feelings, bolted towards the heavy door.

"Cissy—" Lucius started.

" _I want to see him_!" she screamed, startling Lucius into momentary silence.

"My darling, you can't." He seized her by the arms and pulled her closer against her will. Her breathing was erratic, her eyes wistfully unsettling as they stared somewhere beyond his reach. "There's no body."

Narcissa shook. " _What do you mean, 'There's no body'_?" she exclaimed accusingly.

Lucius ignored it, sensing the depths of his wife's pain. "The Shrieking Shack... There's only blood now, Cissy. He's not there."

" _NO_!" she exclaimed and burst into tears. She wiggled uselessly against her husband's firm hold. "He might be out there! _He might still be alive_!"

"No, Cissy," Lucius insisted, as a stray tear trickled down his face.

He hadn't expected to cry; he had no acceptable reason to. Yet, the devastation knocking him off balance was enough to bring Lucius to his knees. Despite all of the rage and disappointment still wrestling for dominance within his heart, he had lost a brother. He wanted to keep it together for Narcissa's sake but found that he too was faltering.

"Potter witnessed it all, my darling. He watched Severus die..."

" _NO_! _NO_!" Narcissa began shaking uncontrollably, her voice skyrocketing to a level of hysteria unlike anything Lucius had ever witnessed from her small frame, as she proceeded to cry until she was hoarse, "He may still be alive! _He may still be alive_!"

Lucius forced an emotionally wrecked Narcissa into his embrace, eventually shushing her gut-wrenching wails with persistent rubs to the back of her neck. "He's gone, my love," he muttered, crumbling alongside her, as he repeated the news over and over again in a pained effort to help them both come to terms with their loss. "He's gone."

* * *

 **May 2, 1997**

"In a perfect world, I'd have you both."

From behind, a low, spine-tingling growl tickled Narcissa's earlobe. "That makes you greedy _and_ deranged."

She chuckled, containing a contented smile against the convenience of her plush pillow. "I've made it a habit of getting what I want," she reminded her chosen company, her fingers mindlessly stroking the wiry arm that hugged her around the middle. She could sense his enjoyment by his even breaths that kept the nape of her neck warm.

"No one can have it all, 'Cissa," he whispered after some time had passed in silence. "Not even you."

"I don't believe that," Narcissa insisted.

She rolled her head sideways to decipher her lover's worn, hard face. It rather befuddled her at times how much older Severus looked as compared to either her or her husband. For now though, his deeply-set worry lines were free from tension, offset by that dominating hooked nose and a weary pair of eyes that tended to carry the weight of the world in their depths. To her, he was grotesquely beautiful in all of his gross imperfections, both prominent and subtle. She brushed his chin to maintain his attention.

"I must say," she chided faintly, as she leaned in to capture his lips, "I've come pretty darn close to having everything I could ever want."

"When did _I_ become one of your prized possessions?" he inquired in a casual grunt that broadened Narcissa's grin. She knew that Severus was, in actuality, quite curious as to her answer.

"The moment I fell for you," she confessed, with surprising ease.

Severus's scowl deepened. "I thought we agreed to hate one another for the rest of our miserable lives."

Narcissa broke into soft laughter. "It would seem that neither of us was able to keep that promise."

"So it would seem..."

It was the closest Narcissa had ever gotten to admittance from her long-time lover. She didn't require a reply anymore, for she had long since realised that a declaration on top of a hilltop or on bended knee wouldn't secure her anything more than what Severus Snape was willing to provide: fragments of an irrevocable broken heart; never whole and never to entirely belong to her.

Still, in that moment, a stunted awareness washed over Narcissa. She was hearing the deeper recesses of the wizard's quiet, messy affections. He _did_ care for her and had basically conceded to it, even if it was upon the heavy throes of sleep. Why else would he have not put a stop to their dangerous liaison years ago, Narcissa had too often argued with her fragile feelings, or ceased holding her in bed in the manner that he did now: closely nestled together, his embrace suggestive of a certain dedication as to be daringly compared to the other dead witch who still held claim over him?

 _Yes... Surely, he_ must _love me too..._

Secretly gratified, Narcissa continued stroking Severus beneath the chin. His thick eyelashes fluttered at her attention. As the silence prolonged and Narcissa's persistence held, a satisfied purr slipped a relaxed Severus's mouth before he could stop it.

"I can't love you the way that you deserve, 'Cissa," he averred, his sluggish words unexpected and somewhat apologetic-sounding.

Her caressing momentarily paused. "No," she avowed after a moment and inclined into him for a deeper, reaffirming kiss, "but you can carry on loving me, Severus, as much as you are able to..."

Severus's eyes opened halfway and, this time, regarded her without judgment or ire or derision. They were considerate, even slightly kind. He tilted further into the kiss and amplified it, his passionate conveyance expressed without purple prose or a heartfelt confession.

Narcissa unfurled herself to receive him fully and sealed the kiss for all time, committing it to memory. _Yes... In his own mucked up way, he_ does _love me too._

* * *

 **January 9, 2000**

Lucius observed his captivating wife's elegant movements from a short distance away, remaining half hidden behind an abundance of Mme Plantier white roses: her favourite. Like the remainder of their picturesque outdoors, the flowers had been charmed to withstand England's frigid winter chill. He reached out to delicately finger a few of the soft petals with one gloved hand, inhaling their pleasant aroma. His lips swung into an appreciative smile and returned to Narcissa in the garden, unaware of her husband's thoughtful study of her figure.

She had been overseeing the painstaking renovations to their gardens ever since the end of the war, spending much of her time in the outdoors, whether the weather was suitable or brutal. She had replanted and tended to many of the blooms herself, and it was still a bit of a shock to Lucius to witness his wife bent over in the soil, the bottoms of her robes dirtied and sometimes torn by such absurd manual labour. He didn't understand its physical practice, but he understood Narcissa's emotional need for it in her private world.

She took tremendous pride and care in her work, and it showed. The Malfoy gardens were more bountiful and breath-taking than ever, a testament to all of the witch's hard-placed exertions over the past several years. Every now and then she would resort to using her wand to lighten the load, however, and today was no exception, as she clipped the charmed hedges in front of her with a few short flicks of her wand.

Narcissa was busily inspecting an assortment of flowers that had never been planted in their garden until shortly following the war—white lilies—when Lucius came up from behind to more closely survey her work. He rested his hands on her shoulders and commented into her ear, "They're looking splendid, my darling." He pecked her neck in admiration.

Narcissa cocked her head to the side, her gaze quietly considerate. "They are, aren't they?" she mused as well.

The atmosphere here was reflective and soundless, the couples' expressions matching the solitude of this special sanctuary mostly shielded to outsiders by the other larger blossoms within the garden. It had become a place to mourn openly without scrutiny; to contemplate and remember.

Here, before an assortment of white lilies, was Severus Snape's final resting place—a homage to a man whom the Malfoy's had loved and lost and, alone, sought to pay their respects—though his body had never been recovered. If one of them was nowhere else to be found around the manor, the other could almost certainly find them here, standing or seated before the lily bush, sometimes speaking to the small plaque in front of it that read, in simple letters, Severus's full name, date of birth, and date of death.

Lucius had taken himself aback by how much he frequented this spot, seeking to make peace with his old friend. He had forgiven him, knowing he wouldn't be able to move forward if he didn't, but forgetting and understanding was tougher. His wife visited the place daily. He didn't question why.

Lucius kissed the back of Narcissa's head and spoke casually again, "I think he's enjoying your efforts immensely, Cissy."

"I hope so..."

The ambiance returned to its quietude. After a while, Lucius gently shook Narcissa's shoulders, drawing her out of her reflections. "Come." He gently looped her arm through his and tugged her away from the lily bush. "Draco will be along soon. We should be inside to greet him."

The expression Narcissa bore him wasn't exceptionally happy, but her eyes were softer and a touch consoled as they stared into Lucius's. It was a positive indication that she was having a relatively good day and that heartened him too.

Narcissa nodded agreeably. "Of course."

The Malfoys turned their back and strolled towards the estate arm in arm. A short pause later saw Lucius compelled to ask, as he lovingly squeezed Narcissa's hand, "Are you happy, my dear?"

She peered up at him without speaking—at first—her mind reserved and meditative for a period. Then she answered, with infallible honesty, "As much as I'm able to be, my darling."

Lucius didn't press her to elaborate. Narcissa brought his knuckles to her lips and adamantly kissed each one, bestowing on them all of the love that her delicate body still contained; that remained attached and loyal to him as she had ever been at the start of their relationship.

Narcissa chanced a fleeting glance at the lily bush over her shoulder, smiling sadly for it alone, as she kept pace at her husband's side and re-entered their house. She would guard that portion of her heart like a protective shield, wearing it muted and locked for the rest of her days.

 _Happy birthday, my love. You were right... I could never have it all._

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 **A/N (cont.) :** Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.


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